


Freedom is Always an Unfinished Task

by Robin4, SailorSol



Category: seaQuest
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Gen, Submarine Warfare, War, post season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-11
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 118,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSol/pseuds/SailorSol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a terrorist bomb destroys the seaQuest II shortly before launching in 2021, the world’s fragile peace begins to splinter.  Three years later, with a new seaQuest finally beginning her workups, new powers have risen to threaten the UEO and war with Macronesia is just the beginning. AU post Season 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fragile Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Authors’ Note: This fic will primarily feature the Season 1 cast, though you will see some characters (and situations) out of Season 2 and 3 as well. Your co-authors are Robin4 and Sailor Sol, and as one of us is a naval officer and the other a nuclear engineer, we’ll try to make it as realistic as possible.
> 
> ***
> 
> Disclaimer: Not ours. If it was, Season 2 would have brought back the original crew, seaQuest would never have met aliens, and Captain Bridger would never have left.

# Part 1: Before the Storm

31 October 2022

He was flipping through files too quickly to really pay much attention to the advertisement for some new computer system or another, but when the news returned from commercial, the first words caught his attention.

“Breaking news—reports from UEO Command indicate that yet another shooting incident has taken place between warships belonging to the United Earth-Oceans Organization and the Alliance of Macronesia.  Although UEO officials claim the engagement resulted from a misunderstanding concerning the ongoing trade embargo, many citizens are growing concerned about the heightened state of tensions between the two confederations.

“Sources close to the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral William Noyce, report that several submarines were involved, including the UEO _SeaWolf, Torsk,_ and _Argonaut_.  They faced off with at least four Macronesian attack subs, and although the battle appears to have been decided in the UEO’s favor, information has now reached us that _SeaWolf_ sank several hours later due to damage.

“UEO Command reports that all crewmembers were accounted for after the sinking and were rescued by the other submarines.  _SeaWolf,_ commanded by Captain Jonathan Ford, had a crew of 157 and was one of the most technologically advanced submarines in the UEO fleet.  Captain Ford was unavailable for comment, and further details of the attack have not yet been released.”

He had been living in his own design and research bubble ever since the destruction of the second _seaQuest_ in March of 2021, but even Nathan Bridger could not ignore the fact that the world existed on the brink of war.

No matter how much he wanted to.

 _If I had known this was going to happen, I would have seriously reconsidered driving_ seaQuest _into a lava well, no matter_ how _necessary it was!_   But being angry with himself would not solve anything, so Nathan turned back to his work with a scowl.  _I hope Jonathan’s all right.  He’s got to be feeling like hell right now._

The reporter droned on, helpfully recapping the last two years’ worth of history—as if everyone in the world had not been holding their breath as they watched the UEO’s fragile peace go straight to hell.

“As everyone knows, following the destruction of the UEO flagship _seaQuest,_ new powers such as the Alliance of Macronesia began building up their own fleets of ‘super subs’.  After the sub’s supposedly-identical replacement was destroyed by terrorist groups that have still not been identified, these super subs and the confederations owning them were able to rule the seas, undermining UEO peacekeepers at every turn.

“Because of this drastic rebalancing of world power, Macronesia—then New Australia—and other powers were able to force the UEO to move forward the planned Economic Summit of 2026, which was held in January of this year and lifted the ban on colonial deregulation.  Three months later, the UEO enacted the famous Wallace Trade Embargo against non-aligned members.

“Since then, a state of de-facto war has broken out, although officials on both sides still claim that a settlement is right around the corner.  Several UEO subs have taken damage enforcing the trade embargo in the Pacific, but _SeaWolf_ is the first sub that the UEO has admitted to losing.  However, rumors of warships officially lost in ‘training accidents’ abound.  Anonymous sources within UEO Command have informed CNN that the Alliance of Macronesia has lost at least four subs and one cruiser since July. 

“We have no information on if Macronesia lost any submarines in today’s engagement or if _SeaWolf_ was the only fatality.  We will provide updates when available, and—”

The phone next to his desk rang, and Nathan jumped.  As he did so, his eyes flew to the clock on the wall next to the vidscreen. 

 **14:02**

“Great,” he muttered, slapping the ‘on’ button with one hand and clicking ‘save’ with the other to preserve the changes he had made to the design master.  He spoke without looking up:  “I’m coming, I’m coming. I know I’m late.”

“Thank you, sir,” his secretary replied.  “They’re waiting for you in conference room four.”

He managed a smile for her—Donna was a nice girl, and really did not deserve to have Bridger yell at her simply because he was angry at the universe. 

“Thanks,” Nathan said, and cut the connection, hurrying out of the room before the phone could ring again.

* * *

Lucas stopped abruptly, not even noticing the swears tossed in his direction from one of the other students who had been following him. He approached the vidscreen along one wall until he could hear the newscaster, attracted by the image of Jonathan Ford next to video stock footage of a submarine.

“UEO Command reports that all crewmembers were accounted for after the sinking and were rescued by the other submarines. _SeaWolf_ , commanded by Captain Jonathan Ford, had a crew of 157 and was one of the most technologically advanced submarines in the UEO fleet. Captain Ford was unavailable for comment, and further details of the attack have not yet been released.”

The image changed to something completely different, and Lucas ignored the newscaster, sitting down hard in the chair closest to him. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Commander Ford--no, _Captain_ Ford, now--had been attacked. Two years on a submarine, even one as large and high-tech as _seaQuest_ had been, had taught Lucas that the chances of an entire crew surviving the sinking of their boat was a miracle, especially in combat situations.

He stood up again, as abruptly as he had sat, making a beeline back for his apartment, ignoring the fact that he had come here to the student center for a reason. The call he was planning on making wasn’t one that could be done at a public terminal. Wasn’t one that should be done at _any_ civilian terminal, but Lucas knew his security was tight, and the UEO wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, not with the way he routed his calls.

There was a message waiting in his inbox when he finally had the door to his room securely shut, in case his two roommates came back early. They both had afternoon classes, but so did Lucas. He could afford to miss a class for _this_.

The message was from his father, and he hesitated a moment, wondering if he should put off watching it until after he had made his call. He sighed and opened the message.

“Hello, Lucas. Sorry I missed you, but I have to make this quick, and I won’t have a chance to call back any time soon. World Power has found a suitable location for a new site, and the launch leaves within the hour. I didn’t want to tell you sooner, because we were all holding our breaths to see if it would get approved. I’ll have limited access to e-mail once we get down there, we’ll be living pretty low-tech for a while until things get established. I’ll try and call you at Christmas. Be good,” his father said, before signing off.

Lucas glared at the frozen image of his father on the screen. “You’d think he would have learned his lesson,” he said irritably, before closing the message. He hit the keys rather more forcefully than necessary, pulling up a new communications link, dialing in the secure line he shouldn’t have access to.

The digital trilling noise of a link trying to connect, like the equivalent of an old phone line ringing while waiting for someone to answer, was the only sound in the room.

“Come on, pick up,” Lucas said to the computer, knowing it wouldn’t really help if no one was around to answer. The screen flashed blue, with the official UEO logo splashed across it, a digital voice proclaiming that the call was being transferred to voicemail.

He swore, hitting the end key before the image of Nathan Bridger could fully take form on the screen. Leaving a message wouldn’t do him any good at this point. He sat back in his chair in frustration.

“Typical. No one’s ever around when _I_ want them to be,” he muttered.

A reminder appeared on his screen that he was supposed to be overseeing a lab in twenty minutes. It was glorified babysitting, but as a Ph.D. student, he was required to act as a teaching assistant for the undergraduates.    _Again._   And with the captain unavailable, Lucas didn’t have an excuse to skip out.

Logging off with a sigh, he got up and headed towards the computer lab, trying not to dwell on the fact that Captain Ford could have died, and Lucas would only have found out via a press release. He wanted to believe that Captain Bridger would have called him, under those circumstances, but as things got worse between the UEO and Macronesia every day, security became tighter and tighter. And the simple truth was, regardless of any security clearances Lucas might have had since he was sixteen, he was still a civilian.

Maybe it was time to change that.

* * *

Jonathan was sleeping in the spare rack in the XO’s stateroom on board _Torsk_ for now—even the UEO's bigger submarines did not have an excess of space for unexpected guests, and that was especially true on board a warship—but he waited until the door to the Captain's cabin was closed before allowing his face to betray any of his exhaustion.

Oliver Hudson, on the other hand, looked like he thrived under this kind of pressure.  Judging from Jonathan’s experience with him so far, he probably did. Not that handling pressure well was a bad thing, but…

"I'm sorry about your boat, Jonathan," Hudson said quietly, seeming sincere.

 _Seeming, hell._ Hudson probably _was_ sincere; the man could be overbearing and aggressive to a fault, but he was a submariner, and he knew how a captain felt about his boat.

 _SeaWolf_ had been Jonathan's first command, and he felt almost like he had lost his firstborn child. While was extremely grateful that Hudson's _Torsk_ and _Argonaut_ had managed to get all of his people off, he still felt like there was a gaping wound inside his heart that would never heal.

“Thank you,” Jonathan replied heavily. “I'm just glad everyone made it out alive." The words weren't enough, couldn't be enough, but he didn't have the energy for more right now. Hudson may not have ever lost a boat himself, but he would surely understand.

He wondered if this was how Captain Bridger felt when the first _seaQuest_ had been destroyed.  Or the second, for that matter.  But he did not want to think about _seaQuest_ right now.

“At least we got the bastards first,” Hudson answered.  “Two or three of those Macronesian subs won’t be seeing anything other than the inside of a drydock for at least a year, if they manage to salvage them at all.  That’s got to count for something.”

"Something, hell," Jonathan replied, wincing as he realized he was too tired to even censor his own language. "They're like some sort of... hydra, or something. You take out one sub and they replace it with three more."

“No kidding,” his fellow captain breathed, scowling.  “I’d love to know where they get the money to keep cranking out so many boats—there’s no way their colonies are this lucrative yet.”

He could _almost_ feel bad for the Macronesians. They probably thought they were doing the right thing. But that didn't help the fact that his boat was gone, and while Jonathan blamed himself just a little, the brunt of it lay with the enemy. "They may have lost more boats than us, but they're winning this war, so far."

“The hell they are.”  But even Oliver Hudson could not overcome the obvious that easily, no matter how aggressively optimistic he usually was.  “Or at least they wouldn’t be, if our own politicians would get their heads out of their asses and let us actually _fight_ the bastards.  You wouldn’t have even lost your boat if our own idiotic rules of engagement did not insist that we could not fire until fired upon.”

"They're still calling it a conflict," Jonathan said wearily. He and Hudson had had this argument several times already, and Jonathan wasn't in the mood to have it again. "If we start firing first, that makes us the aggressors. I know the moral high ground doesn't mean much when you're getting shot at, but we _have_ to be better than them."

“Right up until they torpedo us until oblivion, yeah, we’ll be ‘better’ than them.” Then he shook himself.  “Never mind.”

“Coffee?” Hudson asked, seeming to sense that the conversation was drifting into emotional territory and offering Jonathan a way out.

“Please.”

He accepted the cup readily, although he had no idea why Hudson had a pot rigged up in his own stateroom instead of just using the one in the nearby wardroom, which was all of four steps down the passageway.  Still, Jonathan was grateful for the distraction—he liked anything that took his mind off of the image of _SeaWolf_ sitting on the ocean floor, gutted and lifeless.

He had been in command for a little more than a year, having only left the _seaQuest_ crew when it became absolutely clear that the powers that be in the UEO were not interested in sinking another huge chunk of change into building a third boat the size of _seaQuest_.  Still, Captain Bridger had practically had to kick him out the door to make him go, but until now, Jonathan had never regretted leaving.  Not when doing so gave him his own command, something he had been dreaming about since his days at the Academy.

 _SeaWolf_ had not been _seaQuest_ , but she’d been a damned good boat, and she’d been his.  No longer, though.

He dreaded the idea of heading back to shore, knowing he had a long line of debriefings waiting for him. After that, the UEO would decide his fate. He wouldn't be entirely surprised if they put him behind a desk somewhere for a while. The thought made him cringe.

Even the oldest boat in the fleet would be better than driving a desk, but Jonathan knew that he had to face the inevitable Board of Inquiry, first. Every captain who lost his boat had to go before the board, even if the sub was sunk under combat conditions. Had war been declared, the loss would have been written off--but it hadn't.

The board was just one more thing Jonathan had to look forward to--that, and spending almost two weeks stuck in a steel tube with Oliver Hudson.

Frankly, he wasn't sure which was worse. A few more conversations over who was at fault for the 'conflict', and he might strangle the other captain, even if Hudson _was_ senior to him.

"Coffee too strong?" Hudson asked amicably, misinterpreting Jonathan's distaste for the situation at hand. And there it was, that tone of voice Hudson used when he was starting to let his ego get the best of him, the one that _really_ made Jonathan want to strangle him.

"No, I just realized if I want to rack out any time soon, caffeine is probably a bad idea. Thanks for the cup anyway," Jonathan said, settling on the most polite way he could think of to bow out quickly.

"No problem. I've got some paperwork to do, anyway, so if you want to nap for a bit, go ahead. I'll screen your calls and keep anyone who doesn't have stars on their collar from bothering you."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Jonathan answered honestly.

He put the mug of coffee down on Hudson's desk before he left.  It _was_ strong—tasting more like turpentine than coffee—but he was far too polite to say that.  He was, however, tired, and although Jonathan was pretty sure that his sleep would be full of nightmares featuring his sinking submarine, any more hours without sleep would only turn him into a punch drunk zombie, so he had to try.

* * *

2 January 2023

“Happy New Year, Katie,” she muttered to herself, glaring at the screen once more.  This was _not_ what she had been aiming for when she had quit her civilian job commanding _H.R. Clinton_ and returned to the Navy nine months earlier.  But orders were orders, as they said, and arguing them would only keep her on the beach instead of at sea where she belonged.

After the trade embargo had been enacted, Katie had been able to read the writing on the wall—Macronesia would not take such punishment without a fight, and she’d been right in expecting war to be right around the corner.  Under such circumstances, she _couldn’t_ stay out of the Navy, no matter how much she liked the money that came from being a civilian skipper.

Besides, commanding a civilian supertanker was nowhere near as glamorous as the company had promised.  Although there were times she had found the job challenging, and even rewarding, Katie had spent half of her time arguing with civilians who disliked keeping to ‘rigid’ schedules and the other half bored out of her mind.  Even if war hadn’t been on the verge of breaking out, she would have considered returning to active duty.

She glanced at the orders again.  No, they hadn’t changed just because she wished they would.  Still the same.

OFFICIAL CHANGE DUTY ORDERS FOR  
CDR KATHERINE A HITCHCOCK

WHEN DIRECTED BY REPORTING SENIOR, DETACH IN JAN 23 EDA: JAN 23  
FROM US NAVAL WAR COLLEGE  
HOMEPORT RI, NEWPORT

REPORT NOT LATER THAN 12 JAN 23  
TO UEO TORSK SSN 4021  
\- REPORT AS EXECUTIVE OFFICER

On one hand, it was exactly what she wanted.  The military was much more stringent when it came to proper career progression; as far as the Navy was concerned, she had last been a department head, so now she had to do a tour as an XO—which she had expected.  She had hoped to go to one of the newer attack boats, and that was exactly what _Torsk_ was; she was the sixth or seventh newest boat in the UEO fleet, and had a good reputation.

Moreover, it was a plush job for a commander so recently promoted that her rank patches still squeaked; Katie had left the service as a lieutenant commander, and had missed several promotion boards while she had been gone.  All in all, orders to _Torsk_ were a sign that UEO Command had forgiven her for leaving the service, and that her career was back on track.

The boat wasn’t the problem.  Her captain _was._

“It had to be Hudson, didn’t it?” she muttered to herself.  For the last few months, she had been chewing down her cubicle walls at the War College; Katie enjoyed teaching, but she was built to have a more engaging job than this.  But…she had friends that had served with Oliver Hudson before, and none of them had much good to say.

He was abrasive, overbearing, and difficult to work for.  Hudson had a reputation as the most demanding skipper in the submarine service, and despite his outstanding combat reputation, officers dreaded serving under him.  All it took was to rub him wrong once, and Hudson was certain to throw a career down the crapper.

They said he went through XOs like normal people went through toilet paper, too.

 _Report as Executive Officer_ , the orders said.  Katie sighed and clicked ‘acknowledge receipt’ on her view screen.  She had ten days to get to Pearl Harbor, Hawaii from Newport, Rhode Island _and_ move all of her belongings.  Never before had she had to execute such short-fused orders, but she had volunteered for this job, so she really had no right to argue.

“It’s not a job, it’s an adventure!” she muttered to herself, quoting the Navy’s old recruiting slogan as she stood up.  It was time to tell her boss that he would have to find someone else to teach her classes starting immediately; Katie had too much to do to juggle in teaching her strategy and policy classes.

Maybe Hudson was not as bad as everyone said.  After all, the man couldn’t be the _complete_ demon (and favorite of General Secretary McGath, whose life he was rumored to have saved some years ago) that everyone claimed he was—no one could be _that_ bad.  Not and still be an effective commanding officer, which the Navy clearly felt he was, given that _Torsk_ was his second command.

She’d just take one day at a time and see what happened.  After all, she had spent years learning about Nathan “Iron Pants” Bridger, first at the Academy and then after graduation. He had been legendary, both as a tactician and a task master. But the reality had been quite different, and he’d been extremely easy to work for.

Katie winced, remembering her first conversation with Captain Bridger, and just as quickly squashed the memory. “Not one of your finer moments, Katie,” she said. But as embarrassing as the situation had been, she had learned a hard lesson about judging people based on reputations and appearances. She would just have to do her duty to the best of her ability, and give Captain Hudson the chance he deserved.

* * *

15 April 2023

The UEO recruiter who hung around campus was dumb as a brick, as far as Lucas was concerned. He’d have thought that the UEO would have had enough foresight to send someone with a reasonably high IQ to try and recruit people from someplace like MIT, but Lucas had met a fair few of the senior UEO officials in his time on board _seaQuest_ —had almost been killed by one of them, in fact—and so he knew better.

He had _tried_ working with the man, but Lieutenant Gallagher was proving to be impossible. Every time Lucas tried explaining his circumstances, Gallagher would get a patronizing look on his face that said he clearly didn’t believe Lucas had been a _seaQuest_ crewmember when he was sixteen, and a close personal friend of _the_ Captain Bridger.

For two weeks, Lucas had toyed with the idea of calling the captain and asking for help, but every time he started dialing the number, he stopped himself. Bridger hadn’t called him since Christmas, and with things degrading towards war, Lucas wasn’t so sure the captain would be very supportive of Lucas’ sudden desire to join the military. If there was one thing Nathan Bridger had always been adamant about in the handful of years Lucas had known him, it was his distaste for war--and his guilt over his son Robert’s death.

But official channels clearly weren’t going to work if Lucas was going to join the Navy and actually end up where he wanted--back on _seaQuest_ , the one place in all his twenty-one years that had ever felt like home.

That just meant he had to use unofficial channels. Lucas was _good_ at unofficial channels, which was how he had managed to find the Chief of Naval Operation’s direct vidlink line, so he wouldn’t have to explain himself to a series of underpaid, overworked secretaries who didn’t care who Lucas was or why he wanted to talk to Admiral Noyce without an appointment.

He exhaled slowly, trying to calm his nerves and remind himself that this was the right thing to do, before he dialed the number. The UEO logo split into a video image, and Admiral Noyce blinked at him from behind his desk.

“Lucas?” the admiral asked, clearly confused. He had probably been expecting someone else.

"Sorry for calling you like this, sir, but.... I need your help," Lucas said. He shouldn't be this nervous. He'd spoken with the admiral before, in far stranger circumstances.

“It’s no problem at all, Lucas.  I’d be glad to help you.  What seems to be the issue?”  Noyce smiled, and unless Lucas was mistaken, he looked relieved to have been pulled away from whatever it was he had been doing.

"I want to join the Navy," Lucas blurted out, wincing as he did so. He had planned out an entire speech he was going to give, had even written it down on note cards in front of him.

“You want to _what_?”

“Join the Navy, sir.”

Noyce only blinked, still looking shocked.

He was doing this wrong, and the admiral was probably going to hang up with him at any second. He shuffled through his note cards, finally giving up when he couldn't find what he wanted. "Look, I've been trying to do this the official way, but the recruiter here on campus won't even look up my record, so of course he doesn't believe that I was on _seaQuest_ , and Captain Bridger would probably find some way to forbid me from joining at all, if he knew..."

“Why _do_ you want to join the Navy, Lucas?” the admiral asked after a moment.  “Don’t get me wrong—the Navy would love to have someone with your talents—but why join _now_?”

Lucas looked at the bottom of the screen, checking to make sure it really was a secure link. He'd be thrown in jail before let into the Navy if he compromised the security of their biggest secret. "I know what the captain's been working on, sir."

“Come again?”

He hesitated, not wanting to say it out loud, but clearly the admiral didn't--or wouldn't--understand what Lucas was saying. " _seaQuest_."

Noyce’s expression closed off immediately.  “Tell me you’ve been working as a consultant on the project, or something like that.  Otherwise, you’re looking at a serious security breach that even _I_ can’t cover up.”

Lucas had to swallow hard before his voice would work again. "Computer systems, sir. And a couple of others, but mainly computers."

“At least that’s legitimate,” the admiral replied, his entire posture relaxing.  “So, what does the next _seaQuest_ have to do with you wanting to join the Navy?  You know she’s not being rebuilt to be a scientific vessel.  Not this time.”

"I know that, sir," he replied, trying to be covert about wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He couldn't even remember the last time he had felt this nervous. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, since I saw the news report about Captain Ford, back in October. He's my friend, and most of the rest of my friends are out there too. We're at war--I know the politicians aren't calling it that, but everyone can see plain as day that's what it is. And _seaQuest_ is the best the UEO has, so she should _have_ the best, shouldn't she, sir?"

“That she should.  Are you volunteering?”

Was he imagining things, or did he see a mischievous glint in the admiral’s eye?

Lucas grinned, knowing he still had a card up his sleeve that he could use to shock the admiral, even if it _was_ dancing dangerously close to that security breach. "The current Electronic Warfare Officer assigned to _seaQuest_ is Lieutenant Chris Shaffer. Did you know he completed his master's degree last semester at MIT, sir?"

"I'm afraid that I don't track where every one of my officers gets their degrees out of, Lucas," Noyce replied, giving him a hard look. "What does _seaQuest's_ EWO have to do with this conversation?"

"I was the TA for some of his classes. He scraped by with Bs and Cs in most of them, Admiral. Is that really the kind of person you want in charge of something as important as electronic warfare for the flagship of the UEO?" Lucas asked. Ben would have been proud with the gamble Lucas was taking, but Ben was just another person Lucas hadn't talked to since they had all gone their separate ways four years ago.

"Academic grades don't necessarily determine how fit an officer is for their job," the admiral answered calmly.

"Maybe not militarily speaking, sir, but as far as dealing with electronic intrusions, and, ah... hacking... Chris Shaffer just wouldn't cut it. Especially not under combat situations." Lucas tried to keep a gloating expression off of his face, and managed.  Barely.

The glint was back in Noyce’s eyes. Lucas recognized that look, having seen it plenty of times while sitting in on conversations between the admiral and Captain Bridger. "Do you have someone better in mind? One of your straight-A students, maybe?"

Lucas had to grin, knowing the admiral just wanted to hear him say it out loud. "Not a student. Me. That's why I want to join the Navy."

"You do know that joining the Navy is no guarantee that you'll get orders to _seaQuest_ ," the admiral said.

"That's why I need your help, Admiral."

Noyce was definitely smiling, now. "I might be able to swing something," he mused. But then he grew serious. "You'll have to go to OCS, you know. And you can't just quit once you're commissioned—you'll be in for four years, at least."

Lucas hadn't really thought that far ahead, but he also wasn't the type to give up just because things weren't going quite as he had expected. "I understand, sir."

"I'll call you back, then. Give me a day or two to get things moving."

Relief washed through him, although a small corner of his brain was still asking _What in the world are you_ doing _, Lucas?_ "Thank you, sir. And... I wasn't planning on telling Captain Bridger. Not yet, at least."

"I see." Was the admiral trying not to laugh at him? It was hard to tell. "Well, if you don't want to let the cat out of the bag, I won't do it for you. We've got an OCS class starting in June, and I'll try to get you into that one. It's full, so I'll have to pull a few strings, but what good is being the CNO if I can't do that?"

Lucas had to grin in response. Sometimes it really did help having friends in high places. Not that he would call Admiral Noyce a friend, precisely, but they shared a common friendship with Captain Bridger, and that meant more than some people would ever understand. "I'll keep my calendar clear," Lucas said.

"You do that," Noyce replied, and cut the connection.


	2. On the Brink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! Looks like we'll be trying to keep to a once a week updating schedule. The good news is we've got about six and a half more chapters already written, so even if Real Life tries to interfere, we should be able to keep to that. Enjoy!

31 August 2023

Lucas had never been overly fond of ceremonies. This one in particular felt even more boring than usual, and he desperately wished he could have skipped out of it. Except he had volunteered to be here four months ago, and Admiral Noyce would certainly notice if Lucas was absent from his own graduation and commissioning. The admiral _was_ the guest speaker for the ceremony, after all.

He should pay attention, he knew, but the sun was shining down hot and bright, glaring up off the crisp white uniforms of his classmates in front of him. His own was stiff and scratchy, and his shoes bit at his feet, even sitting down. He fiddled with the heavy silver coin that should have been tucked safely in his pocket for at least another hour until it was his turn to swear the officer’s oath and palm it off to Chief Gonzales.  The Drill Instructor had spent the last three months making Lucas’ life hell, but he had also earned Lucas’ respect. 

In fact, Lucas respected Gonzales enough that he had asked the Chief to be his “first salute” and receive the traditional silver dollar in exchange.  Lucas was not sure where the tradition came from—a search of the Internex revealed at least four different legends concerning it—but he rather liked it.  Gonzales was by far the best DI Lucas’ class had, even if he was the hardest.

He knew he shouldn’t complain. OCS wasn’t nearly as bad as boot camp probably was, and Lucas excelled in the classes they were required to take. They were _easy_ , after all, and he’d always enjoyed learning.  Overall, he had only received one demerit in his classes, and not because of his performance. But when the instructor had started going on about “Iron Pants” Bridger, Lucas hadn’t been able to contain his laughter. And the situation was only made worse when he started wondering if he could teach Darwin to call the captain that. The lieutenant teaching the class didn’t have Lucas’ sense of humor, though, and had made that fact abundantly clear with the demerit.

Personal jokes aside, the discipline of military life had been a major adjustment for Lucas. And he had never been particularly fit, since his time in the small gym on _seaQuest_ was spent watching Commander Hitchcock sweat rather than breaking any real sweat himself. Taking orders from people he barely knew and the grueling hours of physical training had definitely been the hardest aspect for Lucas, but he’d managed to make it through.

And soon, it would all be real. Lucas would be an ensign, required to wear a uniform for the next four years, to keep his hair cut short, to follow a rigid schedule dictated to him by someone else. He just hoped that Admiral Noyce had come through as promised, and that the someone else would be Captain Bridger. Lucas hadn’t ever had a problem taking orders from the captain.

If the captain was willing to have him. Lucas had spent most of his limited free time fretting over what the captain would think of his decision. He knew the captain saw him as a son, just as much as Lucas saw Captain Bridger as a father. And Lucas knew how much the captain still blamed himself for Robert’s death. He’d be just as likely to reject Lucas’ new career as he would be to approve of it, a prospect that scared Lucas to death.

Worse yet, Lucas didn’t know if the captain would even stay on board after the new _seaQuest_ was completed. His guilt over Robert didn’t just extend towards an overprotective nature of Lucas; it also fueled the captain’s distaste for war. And that was certainly where things with Macronesia were headed. Lucas hadn’t told the admiral, but he hoped maybe the captain would decide to stick around, if he knew Lucas would be in the middle of things.

 _It’ll be just my luck that he’s already gone by the time I arrive, and he’ll be replaced by some hard ass with no sense of humor_ , Lucas thought. He tried not to think about what would happen in that case. The only reason he had made it through OCS without snapping was because of the promise of _seaQuest_ after, _with_ Captain Bridger.

 _Don’t think about that now,_ he told himself firmly, and forced his attention back to the ceremony.

Admiral Noyce made some comment about guests being proud of their bright, young ensigns, eliciting a round of applause from the friends and family of his classmates sitting in the crowd. Lucas wasn’t quite sure if the admiral was looking at him, or just out over them in general, but he chose to think the former. He didn’t have anyone in the crowd, cheering for him, and it was nice to think that Noyce was on his side.

Lucas’ father hadn’t answered any of his calls when he tried to let his father know about his decision and the commissioning ceremony. And even if Lucas wasn’t trying to keep this a secret from Captain Bridger, he hadn’t even sent Lucas a message since the last time they spoke in the middle of May.

Typical, really. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that, as the first row of officer candidates stood up to swear their oath.  Lucas was in the back row (they seated everyone alphabetically, so of _course_ he was), and he watched as friends and family stepped forward for each of his classmates to pin on their new ranks.

Not for the first time, he really wished that he had invited someone. Chief Gonzales had volunteered to pin on Lucas' ensign bars, but it wasn't the same. He was grateful, and had accepted, but he really wished that his dad had been able to come. Or that he'd been brave enough to tell the Captain. Or... _someone_.  But he had made his choice to keep this a secret, so now he had to live with the consequences. He tried to tell himself that this wasn't important, it was just a means to an end, but after three months of indoctrination into the military, Lucas couldn't quite convince himself of that.

Finally, it was his rank's turn, and Lucas stepped forward with his classmates, glancing to his right as Chief Gonzales approached. Someone else, however, intercepted the DI just as he was stepping up to Lucas.

"Mind if I take over here, Chief?" Admiral Noyce asked jovially.

His eyes were twinkling again.

Gonzales stared, and almost seemed to stutter, before the chief got hold of himself. "Of course not, sir," he managed to say in what actually sounded like a natural tone of voice.

"Excellent," the CNO replied with a grin, stepping up in front of Lucas in Gonzales' place.  Then his voice turned a bit more serious. "Congratulations, Mr. Wolenczak."

"Thank you, sir." Lucas knew that he wasn't doing a very good job at keeping the surprise off his face. His classmates were fairing even worse than he was, though, and that thought made Lucas grin. "Very touching speech you gave, Admiral. I don't think there was a dry eye in the house." His natural sarcasm got the better of him as his excitement for this moment bubbled over.

"I'm glad you liked it." Yes, that damned twinkle was back, and Lucas was beginning to realize that it was _never_ a good thing. Noyce continued pointedly: "But don't thank me. Thank _you_ , Lucas. The Navy’s glad to have you, even if you have presented me with a unique problem.”

"What problem, sir?" Lucas asked. He wasn't sure if he should be worried that something had gone wrong, or worried that Admiral Noyce was about to pull one of his infamous tricks on Lucas. He wasn't sure which one would be worse, in the long run.

Noyce chuckled. Yes, this was _definitely_ going to be bad for Lucas.

"You see, I have in my hand orders detailing you to a brand new boat as the Electronic Warfare Officer. However, the EWO billet, especially on new construction, is a department head's billet. You're certainly old enough for the job, and you're clearly qualified, but if I commissioned you as an ensign, there's no way you could fill it."

The Admiral busied himself with pinning Lucas' new ranks on as he spoke, ignoring the confused expression on Lucas' face.

"So does that mean I won't be assigned to _se_... the brand new boat?" He had almost slipped, the entire situation with the CNO personally pinning rank onto him and his cryptic statements throwing Lucas off balance.

"Nope," was the cheerful answer. "It just means that, by special order of the CNO, you become _Lieutenant_ Junior Grade Wolenczak today. The job ought to go to a full lieutenant, but you'll have to earn that one."

Lucas spluttered, looking down at the _silver_ bar pinned onto his collar, instead of the gold bar of an ensign he had been expecting. His brain caught up to him a moment later. " _Thank you_ , sir. I don't know what else to say."

Noyce’s expression grew serious.  “Say that you’ll earn the next one.  And that you’ll blow the curve out of all the follow-on schools we’re sending you to, of course, but I expect that.  When you’re done with those, give me a call.  I’ve got a job for you to do before you report to the uh, brand new boat.”

Lucas nodded, unable to stop grinning. "Of course, Admiral. Maybe I'll even go through official channels this time."

He couldn't resist adding that last part, knowing the CNO had enough of a sense of humor to not instantly regret the unexpected promotion he had just given Lucas, and he was rewarded by a chuckle.

“Oh, don’t bother.  My secretaries try to stonewall everyone.  Just call the number you have.”

"Yes, sir." There really wasn't any other way he could respond to something like that--which Lucas could now view as an order from a superior officer. He'd have to get used to thinking that way. He was officially part of the UEO Navy now.

* * *

17 September 2023

Nine months and five days after becoming Oliver Hudson’s XO, Katie knew that he was even worse than his reputation made him out to be.  Oh, he wasn’t as hard to work for as her colleagues had said he  would be—he was a perfectionist, true, but Katie was, too, and was rather well satisfied with _that_ portion of his personality—but the man was _reckless_.  He risked his boat as if the UEO had spares lined up waiting for him, and he risked his _crew_ like they were replaceable, as well.

Which would explain why she was sitting in a cramped seat on one of the few small subs racing away from the Sierra Colony, just hours after Hudson had gotten _Torsk_ blown out from under them.  If it had not been for the fact that the colony’s leaders had insisted their launches stop and search the wreck for survivors, they would still be stuck on board, with their air rapidly running out and the cold slowly seeping in.

 _Keep thinking those happy thoughts, Katie._

It was a good thing that Hudson had gotten off on a different launch; with over half of their crew left dead on the sea floor, she would probably have punched him if she saw him.  She’d _told_ him that his so-called battle plan had been a bad idea.  In fact, it had been a suicide charge barely disguised by a few decent tactical maneuvers, because there was no way in hell one _Walrus_ -class SSN could stand up against five Macronesian shooter subs.  He’d known it, she’d known it, and more importantly, the citizens of the colony they were supposed to protect knew it. 

Even the mayor of Sierra Colony had called to tell Hudson that he understood that _Torsk_ needed to run; he only asked that _Torsk_ take off as many of the civilians as she could fit on board before the Macronesians took over the colony and did God-knew-what to the residents.  The Sierra Colony was close to the border, and the mayor knew what that meant if the Macronesians crossed the line.  Today they had, and he had not sounded surprised over the vidlink.

Hudson knew that too, but of course, he had to play the hero.

And he’d lost the boat doing it, taking on five subs and managing to sink three of them before _Torsk_ took irreparable damage.  The bastard would probably get a medal for it, too. Katie could at least admit that they hadn’t done too poorly for themselves, all things considered, even if the Macronesians had still taken the colony in the end.

“XO?” Ensign Henderson, _Torsk’s_ Auxiliaries Officer, or “Auxo”, asked quietly, interrupting her train of thought.

“Yeah?”

“What will happen to those we left behind?” Henderson continued hesitantly.

Katie took a deep breath.  “I wish I could say that we’ll come back and get them…that we’d be able to bring them home.  But now that the Macronesians have the colony, I doubt they’ll let us.  Even if the UEO just sent an unarmed vessel.”

“That’s what I was afraid you’d say,” the young officer said, her posture resigned and eyes full of loss.  Three quarters of the wardroom had not made it off alive, Katie knew—she’d done the final muster herself.  Henderson was one of the three junior officers who had, and none of the other engineers had survived.

Both of her roommates had been engineers, too, Katie recalled.  The three of them had been good friends, and Henderson looked young and lost without them.

“This isn’t over, Lonnie,” she promised in a voice that was soft, yet hard with pain and anger.  “We can’t bring them back, but we can sure as hell make the Macronesians pay for killing them.”

 _And we won’t be letting them fire the first shot next time, either.  Not if I have anything to say about it,_ Katie thought furiously.  If there was one thing she agreed with Captain Hudson about, it was his frustration with the politicians’ way of handling this ‘conflict’.  Now she’d seen first hand what kind of damage their “non-provocation” policy could do, and she’d be damned if she was going to lose another crew because they had to sit around and be shot at.

She still wanted to punch her CO, but Katie was charitable enough to add some politicians to the list of those who needed hitting.

* * *

Ben Krieg was never the type to pass up an opportunity for celebration. This time was just a little unusual in that he actually _deserved_ the celebration, though. And while some people wouldn’t consider making the rank of lieutenant commander to be anything extraordinary, Ben knew it was nearly a miracle for him.

Ideally, he would have found the closest bar or nightclub, grabbed a few of his crewmates, and gotten completely drunk while trying to find an attractive female to keep him company. Unfortunately, they were three hundred miles out to sea in a beat up old Ohio class submarine that had been retrofitted as a supply vessel for some of the UEO’s underwater outposts.

The most exciting thing on _Louisiana’s_ schedule was their upcoming stop at the Sierra Colony, a backwater outpost that the crew didn’t even _want_ shore leave at.  They’d just be dropping off a load of supplies, foodstuffs and construction equipment in the main, and even Ben wasn’t foolish enough to think there’d be any fun to be found there.  Besides, he was the Supply Officer on this bucket of rust, which meant he’d be plenty busy and find no time for mischief.  That meant he was forced to improvise with some cheap whiskey he had smuggled on board at the last depot they had visited and a holodisk film he’d seen three times already.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted the virtual images with a grin, taking a long pull of the whiskey.

It tasted like crap and burned the whole way down, making his eyes water. He wouldn’t have been drinking it, if he hadn’t been absolutely desperate for something alcoholic. This wouldn’t have felt like a celebration, otherwise. He didn’t even _like_ whiskey all that much, but if he had sold this bottle instead of drinking it, he probably could have made thirty bucks, easy, which had been the only reason he’d bought it in the first place.

He kept glancing away from the holographic girls, down towards the rank patches sitting on his desk that he hadn’t yet sewn onto his coveralls. The two gold stars and gold stripe stood out in bright contrast against the red background. He considered the idea of calling Katie to brag, but he hadn’t talked to her in almost a year--not since he had told her that he had re-commissioned as well. And calling Captain Ford to gloat probably would have been considered insubordinate. They would find out, eventually, and Ben just hoped he would be there to see their faces.

Just as he took another long pull from the bottle, the klaxons started blaring. He spilled the amber liquid down the front of his shirt in surprise.

“GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS. ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS.  TRAFFIC FOR GENERAL QUARTERS IS UP AND FORWARD TO STARBOARD, DOWN AND AFT TO PORT.  GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS.”

He swore, loudly and colorfully. Six months on board the _Louisiana_ and never once had they gone to general quarters outside of a drill. Ben hesitated only a moment, ripping off his favorite Florida State t-shirt and pulling on one of his old _seaQuest_ shirts. He’d have to hope the boat's captain, Commander Clancy, wouldn’t get close enough to smell the liquor on his breath. She already had it in for Ben for reasons unknown, and this could end up being the last nail in his proverbial coffin.

“Knew it had to be too good to be true,” he grumbled, throwing himself down the corridors towards his station. He was almost there, the hatch to the bridge in sight, when he was suddenly tripping over another person, someone who had just come out of the stateroom on his left, the _captain’s_ stateroom, and Ben felt his stomach sink as Commander Clancy picked herself up off the grating to fix him with a stern look.

Ben might have been almost a foot taller than the captain, but even his ex-wife had nothing on her glare. “Late as usual, Mr. Krieg.”

“Yes sir. I mean ma’am. It won’t happen again, ma’am,” he stammered, trying his infamous Krieg smile on her, but she didn’t soften at all.

Suddenly, the floor shifted out from under him, making Ben’s equilibrium go haywire. _That whiskey must have been stronger than I thought!_ But then he realized the captain was stumbling forward, and suddenly she was in his arms as shouts from the bridge were coming in about countermeasures and incoming torpedoes.

He smiled again nervously, realizing his mistake a moment too late as the captain sniffed, arching an eyebrow. “Were you _drinking_ , Mr. Krieg?”

Lying would only lead to a harsher punishment. He was already looking at time in the brig for this, and if the captain had her way, he could kiss his new rank goodbye. She had said during the ceremony earlier that promoting him was against her better judgment, and Ben knew he should have treaded carefully, at least for the first few days. But then again, he hadn’t expected their boat to get _attacked_.

He sighed. “Yes, ma’am, I was,” he admitted.

“Confine yourself to quarters. I’ll deal with you once this mess is taken care of.”

She didn’t wait for him to acknowledge her orders, heading towards the bridge. Ben swallowed the bile rising up in his throat that had nothing to do with the alcohol or the boat being tossed around by external forces.

He made his way back down to his stateroom, slamming the hatch shut with a loud but satisfying clanging noise. “Way to go, Krieg,” he berated himself, dropping down onto his rack. “At least I didn’t call Katie.”

The thought offered thin comfort. At least this time, he hadn’t embarrassed himself in front of her, or the other officers from _seaQuest_ he considered his friends—and those, like Ford, who was closer to a friendly adversary than a true friend. Ford would probably be laughing at Ben right about now, if he knew.

The boat rocked again, and Ben closed his eyes, resisting the urge to hope they might get blown out of the water so no one would ever have to know about this particular screw up. But that hope was dashed an hour later when the boat secured from general quarters. Now he just had to wait for the captain.

 _There won’t be any getting out of this one,_ he thought morosely.

* * *

21 September 2023

They were running.

Every instinct Jonathan owned _screamed_ at him to turn his boat around and get into the fight, but professional training overrode those instincts yet again.  Yes, he wanted to turn _Atlantis_ around and get some revenge for what had happened to _SeaWolf_ almost a year previously ( _One year in just a month and ten days,_ his mind helpfully reminded him), but he knew that doing so would be suicide.  He wouldn’t be able to save the people living at Rochefort Station no matter what he did…but abandoning them _burned._

Five against one were odds that any CO should run away from, especially when the Macronesians had already taken the colony before Jonathan’s arrival, too late to respond to the distress signal they had sent out hours earlier.  Yet he still felt dirty, and he knew that the rest of his crew did, too.  Jonathan had been in his second command for all of ten months, but he had been able to bring a solid core of his old crew with him to _Atlantis_.  No one had to tell the captain that they felt like cowards for running away, even though their duty was to tell the UEO that Rochefort Station had been lost and the Macronesians had gained still more territory.

And then they’d torpedoed the residents as they left.  _The bastards._   Three hours later, Jonathan was still shaking in fury.  _Atlantis_ had been creeping up on the Macronesians when that had happened, hoping to at least rescue the civilians who used to live on the station and had run as enemy attack subs approached, ordering them to evacuate the colony or be fired upon.

The residents had obeyed, of course.  And then the Macronesians had killed them anyway.

If he’d been in weapons range, Jonathan would not have been able to stop himself from firing.  But he hadn’t…and by then he had seen the other three attack subs, and he had known that the Macronesians were just waiting for some hotshot UEO skipper to open fire on them.  If he did that, he’d be playing right into their hands and giving them a public relations coup that the UEO’s government might not be able to withstand.

Instead, he would have to face people accusing him of running away because he was gun-shy and didn’t want to lose another boat, but Jonathan wouldn’t put _Atlantis_ or her crew into unnecessary danger. There was a reason that the saying was _Live to fight another day_ instead of _Die today and let your enemy mock you for your stupidity._

Besides, torpedoing the Macronesian boats would not bring back the people of Rochefort Station, no matter how much better it would have made him feel.  Now his duty was to bring back the sensor recordings _Atlantis_ had taken, so that maybe the UEO could show the world what the Macronesians were doing.  In fact—

A knock sounded on his stateroom hatch, interrupting his thoughts.

“Come!” he called.

Miguel Ortiz, recently promoted to Chief Warrant Officer Ortiz and Jonathan’s Sensor Officer on both of his last two boats came in, looking a bit uneasy.  “Do you have a minute, sir?”

"Come on in, Miguel. What can I do for you?" Had it been anyone else, Jonathan wouldn't have let the weariness creep into his voice. But he and Miguel had known each other for far too long to stand on any sort of ceremony while in private, even if a vast gulf of seniority separated them.

“I got my orders, sir,” Miguel replied, closing the hatch behind himself.  “I guess my request for an extension was refused.”

Jonathan clamped down on his frustration. It wasn't Miguel's fault, and the sensors expert didn't deserve Jonathan's anger. "When do you leave?"

"As soon as we make port."

"So soon? This day just keeps getting better and better..." Jonathan grumbled. He sighed. "Where are they sending you?"

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Miguel replied with a frown.  “The orders just say to report to Project Anzio no later than…well, they have today on them, but I don’t think that they’ll hold being late against me since we’re still underway.  At least I hope not.”

"Have them call me, if they try to," Jonathan said. "Project Anzio... I haven't heard of it."

“Me neither.  I hope it’s not one of UEO Command’s crackpot ideas about using sonar as an offensive weapon.  I _think_ they stopped those experiments, but I might be wrong.”  His old _seaQuest_ shipmate grimaced slightly.  “And thanks, sir.  It’s nice to have someone high ranking in my corner.”

Jonathan managed a grin. "What's the point of rank if I can't throw it around sometimes for an old friend? We'll miss you here, Miguel. I've gotten used to having you at sonar. It's been, what, seven years since our first tour together on _seaQuest_?"

There had been some great years in there, although the first one, with both of them serving under Marilyn Stark, had been a bit rocky at times.  And then there had been the entire refit and the mess that followed it—but that had been followed by a fabulous tour and the promise of another after that.  Jonathan tried not to think about what might have happened if the second _seaQuest_ had never been destroyed—he had a darn good career now, even if he did miss the camaraderie of that old _seaQuest_ crew.  Miguel had been the only officer he had managed to hang on to, and watching him go was hard.

“Yeah, something like that.”  From the other man’s wistful smile, Jonathan could tell he was thinking the same thing.  “I’ll miss it here, too— _Atlantis_ is a great boat, sir.  And you’ve been good to all of us.”

"You know, I think it's a little late to try and butter me up for a good recommendation," Jonathan joked. He stood from his seat, offering a hand out to Miguel. "It's been a pleasure having you as part of my crew, Miguel. I wish you the best of luck. And of course, you're always welcome back if you decide this new project isn't worth your skills."

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” was the grinning response.  “Though I suppose I could be wrong—it might be something really interesting.  I’ll keep telling myself that, anyway.”

"You do that. Maybe it will even wind up being true," Jonathan said. "And keep in touch, Miguel."

“I will, sir,” Miguel promised.  “You, too.”

Miguel left shortly after that, leaving Jonathan to stare at the bulkhead and frown.  Today _really_ couldn’t get any better, could it?  His next task was to call his squadron commander and pass along the news about Rochefort Station, too, which only promised to make him more gloomy.  Twenty-nine more days and he’d be back at Pearl Harbor.  _Atlantis_ could make over 50 knots, but it was almost fourteen hundred miles back to Pearl, and no captain would run his boat full out the entire way.  That meant his crew would spend the next month wondering what they might have done differently.

So would Jonathan, of course, but there was no preventing that. 

* * *

19 October 2023

Ben lay on the hard cot, hands twined behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. He wasn’t really looking at the ceiling, having already memorized the pattern of stains, lines, and cracks that marred it. He’d complained the first day, of course--he was an officer in the UEO Navy and deserving of better treatment than this. But the sergeants tasked with security duty had only ignored him.

He _should_ have been worried about his own fate right now. Captain Clancy had made the report sound like Ben had been falling down drunk, unable to perform his duties during a crisis situation, which was why she had sent him to his quarters. With an already spotty record, including leaving the Navy and coming back again, Ben would be lucky to get out of this without getting discharged.

Instead, all he could think of was Sierra Colony. He’d seen the news reports from after, once he was on land and in the custody of the MPs. Macronesia had swept in to take the colony, and _Torsk_ had been sunk.

 _Katie’s boat_.

Not that he needed to be reminded that she was—had been— _Torsk’s_ XO. His stomach twisted painfully every time he thought about how scared she must have been, trying to get everyone out safely. How much she must be hurting right now, because she _didn’t_. He’d tried calling her, with one of the phone calls he was allowed, but he hadn’t gotten through, and he hadn’t much felt like leaving her a message telling her he was in jail. Again. She had more than enough on her plate right now without her screw up ex-husband making things worse.

But worrying about Katie was easier, and possibly more productive, than worrying about himself. His lawyer was young and green; in truth, he probably could have done better representing himself, but that just ‘wasn’t done’.  And Ben knew he wasn’t the best officer the Navy had ever seen, either.  He would never be a Katie Hitchcock or a Jonathan Ford, never would fit the mold that the Navy wanted him to shoehorn his way into. But being in the Navy was the one thing he had always wanted to do with his life. To have command of his own boat….

“Well, you can kiss that dream goodbye for real this time, Krieg,” he muttered angrily. “Back to flipping artificial meat patties at the local fast food joint for you.”

Sitting up, he tried to pull himself out of his downward emotional spiral. The Navy was his life; he’d learned that after resigning his commission. But nothing had quite been the same since he’d come back. Nothing had been quite the same since they had abandoned ship four years ago and Captain Bridger had driven _seaQuest_ into the giant underwater lava bed.

 _seaQuest_ was gone, and so was her replacement. The UEO had already publically declared they wouldn’t build a third of the highly expensive submarine. _seaQuest_ was out of second chances, just like Ben. He could only hope maybe this time he could find a job on the outside that didn’t involve minimum wage and acne-spotted teenagers.

There just wasn’t a lot of demand in the civilian world for Ben’s specialized set of skills. He knew how to work the UEO system. His supply binder was almost legendary among the supply corps officers. And while he had a handful of civilian contacts, none of them would be useful in civilian business transactions, or at least not legal ones.

And no matter how shady Ben Krieg could be, he really had no desire to turn criminal.  Work the system, sure.  Play fast and loose with the rules, any time.  But he really didn’t want to wander onto the wrong side of the law, even if the alternative was managing a fast food chain.  Again.

He sighed, burying his face in his hands, not even paying attention to the footsteps echoing down the corridor towards him. It was probably just one of the MPs making their rounds, anyway.

The unexpected voice made his head snap up.

“Wallowing in your misery, Lieutenant?”

His brain took a moment to catch up with his body, which had jumped to his feet reflexively. "Captain Bridger…I wasn't expecting you."

Of course, he hadn’t really been expecting _anyone_ , least of all his former captain. Ben would have ranked him lowest on the list of people he wanted to see him like this, even after Katie or Jonathan Ford.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting to find you here, either, Ben,” Bridger replied with a slight smile.  He was even wearing his khakis, which was probably why the MP standing behind him was so stiff and at attention, glaring at Ben as if it was _his_ fault this senior captain had wandered by the Pearl Harbor Military Detention Area for an evening’s entertainment.

"I'd offer you some refreshments, but, ah..." He stuttered to a stop, then offered the captain Charming Smile Number 3, glancing towards the MP. "I don't suppose you could fetch the captain a drink, could you, Sergeant?"

All he got in response was an even sharper glare, but Bridger stifled a laugh with a cough.

“I’m fine, Ben, thanks,” his old Captain grinned.

There were very few people who could make Ben nervous the way Captain Bridger did, but he did his best to hide it behind wit and charm. "What brings you here on this fine night, sir?"

“You do.  Obviously.”  Bridger gave him a hard look, and now the captain looked anything but amused.  “Drinking on duty, was it?”

“Ah, technically I wasn't on duty while I was drinking, sir. I wasn't anticipating the boat coming under attack," he replied. He knew he shouldn't be arguing semantics, but he didn't want Captain Bridger thinking worse of him than he probably already did.

Bridger arched an eyebrow.  “I seem to remember there being _something_ in the regulations about a submariner always being on duty while underway.  But I could be mistaken, of course.”

Ben might not defend himself against the rest of the world, but the captain was one of the few people who had ever looked past his more reckless personality traits and given him a fair chance. _Looks like you blew it there, too, Ben._

"Yes, sir.  You're probably right."

A moment of silence passed, during which Bridger studied him with an intensity that made Ben want to wiggle.  Finally, the captain asked: “Did you actually learn anything from this little adventure, Mr. Krieg?”

"I learned that cheap whiskey tastes like crap, sir," he joked nervously. Bridger's hard glare was enough to make him snap to full attention, fixing his eyesight just above the captain's head. He felt like a plebe getting called in front of the commandant, expulsion lingering over his head. "I learned I shouldn't drink on board, because I _will_ get caught. Sir."

“That’s putting it mildly,” Bridger muttered, and then turned to the MP.  “You can let him out now, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir,” Ben’s guard replied promptly, clearly not surprised by the order at all.  Moments later, he was punching the code into the panel next to the cell door, which slid open as Ben blinked confusedly.

He stared at the open door. "Sir?" So maybe the captain _hadn't_ come here just to rub Ben's failure in his face...

“Unless you want me to leave you in here?”

He was through the door in an instant, not needing further prompting. "No, sir. I mean, the accommodations were stellar, and all. Prime rib every night, and lobster for lunch."

Bridger snorted.  “I bet they were.  But let’s make this clear, Lieutenant—if you even think about drinking anywhere _near_ on duty again, I’ll personally keelhaul your reckless behind, and no one will be dismissing the charges a second time.”

"Dismissing the charges? How...? I mean, yes sir, I understand sir, but..." Ben knew the captain was probably influential enough to pull something like that off, he just didn't know why Bridger would bother wasting his time with someone like him. "Why are you helping me, sir? You don't have any obligation."

“I had a few words with Commander Clancy.  She was willing to drop all charges provided you received orders taking you _far_ away from her and her boat,” Bridger answered, neatly sidestepping Ben’s second question.  “And I happen to be working on a project that needs a… _creative_ Supply Officer.  Interested?”

"Let me get this straight...you really want me to work for you again?" Ben asked incredulously.

The captain shrugged.  “It didn’t go so badly the first time.  Besides, this project will be right up your alley, self-heating thermal underwear, and all.”

"You have to admit, Captain, that underwear ended up being an essential piece of gear," Ben said.

"That was rather my point, Ben," was the dry response.

"Oh. Right. I knew that." The sergeant looked like he was smothering a smile. "I _knew_ that."

Bridger led the way though the building's double doors, and out into the warm fall evening. There was a car waiting, and the captain gestured Ben into the back as he went around to open the back door on the other side.

Apparently Bridger rated a driver these days, because there was an enlisted man in the front seat.

He turned to Ben with a slight smile. "Have you ever heard of Project Anzio?"


	3. Project Anzio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we were going to post this on Monday, but then Sol complained that the chapter was only 8 pages instead of our average of about 12. So we ended up writing two new scenes for this chapter and adding a subplot that exploded a later chapter out into _three_ chapters. So we've got 15 chapters written, we're going on 200 pages, and we're at 85,000 words. Yeah, the end is nowhere in sight.... but we're sure having fun!

21 October 2023

“You’re sure they noticed your boat, Captain?” President Alexander Bourne asked across the vidlink. Some people might have called him a micromanager, but he knew better than to give his full trust to the people he had bought. If they were willing to sell themselves to him, there was always the potential that someone _else_ could pay them more, a complicating factor he always kept an eye out for. After all, Alexander hadn’t become the president of the Alliance of Macronesia by giving people the opportunity to stab him in the back.

“They certainly noticed when I blew their tug out of the water. And I made sure _Atlantis_ caught my scent.  I’ll do it again if I have to—they’ve been a bit slow on the uptake.”

“Don’t get cocky. We want them to know we can do what we want in their waters, not have them blow _you_ out of the water and dissect our technology,” he warned sharply, finding the captain’s smug look was infuriating.

“I won’t get caught. _Spectre_ is faster and more powerful than anything the UEO has, and I’m a better captain than any of the _children_ they have in command of their boats. Give me four months, and Hawaii will be a Macronesian possession, Mr. President.”

“Four months?” he echoed, trying not to sound dubious.  Of course, he’d read the plans General Stassi forwarded to him, but hearing the captain say it so bluntly was enough to make even Alexander Bourne take a deep breath.

“Four months,” was the steady response.  “Johnston Atoll Naval Station will be ours no later than January, and by February, we’ll move onto Pearl Harbor.  And then you’ll own the Pacific.”

“Most of it, anyway,” he replied wryly, then smiled.  “As always, your ambition impresses me, Captain. Don’t let me down.”

After the last remark, he cut the vidlink, and then leaned back in his chair, contemplating the bigger picture.

In the year and a half since the Alliance of Macronesia had been formed, he had faced many challenges as a leader. The trade embargo that the UEO had imposed hadn’t been unexpected, which was why Alexander had been sure to set aside a large budget for military funding. His plan was to make Macronesia the strongest power in the world, which meant having the best technology that money could buy.

The stealth subs were just one of many projects his scientists had been working on. He was pleased with the progress that he had seen. Since _Spectre_ had been in the water, Macronesia had increased its holdings significantly. Even better, they had dealt several hard blows to the UEO, while only taking minimal losses in return.

And with all of his other players in the game, he was entirely certain that they _would_ take Hawaii before the UEO could blunder its way through all of the red tape and put up some sort of resistance.  Soon enough, his military would have almost one hundred _Lysander-_ class sub fighters, and there was nothing in the UEO arsenal that could stand up to them in a mass attack.  And once _Chimera_ came on line… He resisted the urge to rub his hands together in glee.  The time to celebrate had not yet arrived, though the day would come sooner than the UEO thought.

Eventually, the UEO might try to match them, but in their preoccupation with peace, they had neglected their own military, and would be _years_ behind the Alliance, no matter what kind of massive armament program they launched.

 _And by then, it will be too little, too late_ , he thought smugly. _2024 will be the year of Macronesian dominance, and there’s no one to stop us._

* * *

23 October 2023

“Hello, Oliver,” a familiar voice said.  “Mind if I join you?” Hudson looked up from the report he had been reading as a diminutive woman slid into the chair across from him.

“Hello, Marissa,” he greeted the captain of _Louisiana_. “What brings you back to Pearl?”

The expression she made in response to his question was downright distasteful. “Offloading some _rubbish_ and taking on fresh supplies. We’re making a run to the Marshall Islands soon.”

“Rubbish?” Marissa Clancy wasn’t always the most subtle of women, something Hudson had learned in the disastrous two months they had dated when they were both young lieutenants.  She _was_ absolutely gorgeous in a no-nonsense kind of way, though, and seeing her had taught Oliver Hudson an important lesson about beautiful women who happened to also be strong—they didn’t like men getting in their way, regardless of the circumstances.  Now, however, Marissa’s pale Irish face was twisted into a scowl.

“One of my officers decided to get drunk just before we were due to reach Sierra Colony. I had to hand him over to the MPs,” she replied. She waved at the waiter to grab his attention. “I hope you don’t mind if I order something to eat, I’m ravished.”

“Of course not.” He checked his wristwatch, realizing it was nearly lunchtime. “I should probably order something as well.”

“How long have you been sitting here, Oliver?” Marissa asked in amusement, shoving short red hair out of her face.

“A couple of hours. I’m sick of sitting in that damn office at the SUBRON,” he replied. “I can just as easily read reports here.”

“They still haven’t given you a new boat yet?”

She sounded surprised, but then again, someone had told her that commanding a supply hauler would enhance her career, although it kept Marissa out of the communications loop sometimes.  She was due to rotate in less than a year, he knew, and fervently hoped that he wouldn’t be competing with her for his next command.  The brass _loved_ women like Marissa Clancy; there was something about short, red-haired firebrands that made Admirals hand over the best jobs.

It helped that she was competent, of course.  Damn competent.  Oliver would not have been surprised if she wound up promoted to Captain soon—and she’d deserve it. But she’d asked a question, and he should answer it before Marissa decided he’d gone soft after losing a boat.

Oliver scowled. “No. They haven’t decided where to send me yet. And while they sit there twiddling their thumbs, Macronesia is running around causing more trouble,” he grumbled. “I should be out there doing something, damn it.”

“That’s the brass for you. Always slow to move on the things that need doing, and sticking their noses into things that aren’t any of their business,” she commiserated.

“Speaking from personal experience?” It was her turn to scowl now.

“I was _this close_ to nailing Krieg’s ass to the wall for drinking on my boat, and what happens? _Nathan_ freakin’ _Bridger_ steps in and bails him out for some top secret project,” she snarled angrily.

 _She must really hate this Krieg fellow_ , Hudson thought, amused. _Better him than me. Marissa’s a spitfire, that’s for sure._

“I think he’s back on with those dolphins of his,” Hudson said. “That’s what scuttlebutt says, at least. Don’t worry, Marissa. They’re leaving the fighting to those of us who are willing to shoot, and weeding out the bad apples.  And the weak ones.”

Marissa only looked slightly mollified, but when the waiter finally came over to take their orders, they let the subject go, catching up on old times instead of griping about new ones.

* * *

26 October 2023

Lucas’ orders told him to report to “Project Anzio”, something that would have ticked him off if Admiral Noyce hadn’t told him what that meant ahead of time. He had just graduated from the last school that the Navy had decided, in its infinite wisdom, to send him to. Although why he really needed a course called Tactical Weapons Management was beyond Lucas. At least it had been more interesting than the one class which had essentially been a series of techniques he had developed when he was sixteen.

Now it was time to buck the system again, with permission this time.

With the long flight between Rhode Island and Hawaii, Lucas wished he was the type who was able to sleep on airplanes. But even if he was, he had too much from his conversation with the admiral to think about.

From what the admiral had been saying, Lucas wasn’t so sure Captain Bridger would be taking command of _seaQuest_ when she was finished. The UEO Senate was supposed to be going into session soon to vote whether war should be declared or not. If they voted in favor, Admiral Noyce had hinted that the captain might head back to his island and stay there.

Lucas didn’t hold it against the captain for not wanting to go to war. He wasn’t very fond of the idea, either. Most of his childhood had been spent with the world in one state of war or another, and Lucas’ parents had always been pacifists. When his father finally had heard about Lucas joining the Navy, he had nearly given himself a heart attack with his shouting.

But Lucas couldn’t just hide in some classroom while his friends from _seaQuest_ were out there fighting a war, official or not. He didn’t think the captain could, either, but he had been proven wrong once before when General Thomas had tried to make Captain Bridger hunt down Max Scully. For two weeks that seemed to last a lifetime, the captain had hidden, ignoring the rest of the world.

Sometimes, it was hard to tell what would set the captain off, but Lucas hoped that wouldn’t happen again this time. Things hadn’t been this bad in over ten years, not since the Treaty of Reykjavik had been signed in 2010, ending World War III. Surely the captain couldn’t turn his back on the world this time.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Ground control just informed me that we’ll have to divert to Dallas-Fort Worth,” the voice over the PA said. The pilot sounded shaken, and Lucas’ first thought was that something was wrong with the plane, but then the announcement continued. “There was a massive earthquake centered just outside of Los Angeles about an hour ago. The extent of damage isn’t quite clear yet, but… most of California is gone. I’m sorry, folks.”

There was a long moment of stunned silence before everyone in the plane started talking and shouting at once. Most of the people on board had been destined for California, whether they were returning home or visiting there.  _And now…_

Lucas shivered. This wasn’t because of Macronesia, and those people wouldn’t have had time to prepare for something like this. Millions of people were probably dead in an instant, and thousands, if not more, would probably die in the coming days.

He pulled his laptop out from under the seat in front of him, turning it on and dialing into a satellite uplink to the Internex. Anything else would be too bogged down by people trying to find more information about what had happened.

“8.6,” he whispered, the news splashed across every webpage he pulled up. His stomach twisted. He felt guilty, relieved that he didn’t know anyone in California. At least he wasn’t aware of anyone he knew who might have been there. Millions of people packed into such a small, seismically active area had been a recipe for disaster for years on end. But the “big one” had finally come, and the UEO would be scrambling to deal with this newest crisis.

And Macronesia would take the political back seat. Which meant things were about to get ten times worse, if the foreign confederation’s past actions were anything to go by. There would be a war, whether the UEO, Captain Bridger, or Lucas wanted one.

* * *

27 October 2023

 **18:49**

Damn.  He’d been so caught up in walking spaces that he hadn’t noticed what time it was—there was no way he’d make it to Chef Mavro on time for their dinner reservation.  The walk back to his office from the shed took another ten minutes or so, by which time there was definitely no time to drive across the island from the base to the restaurant by seven-thirty.  Although the drive from the Naval Shipyard to Chef Mavro was about eleven miles, evening traffic would make the drive take almost a half an hour, and that didn’t allow any time for him to shower and change out of his grease-stained coveralls.

And none of that took into account the fact that he had, like an idiot, rescheduled a meeting with three of the shipyard’s contractors for 19:15.  There was no way in heaven that meeting would be over in fifteen minutes, either.  It was more likely to take two hours than one—two hours of bureaucratic infighting and misery.

Punching up his vidlink, he dialed the number from memory.  Moments later, the familiar British accent answered, along with a still photograph he knew far too well.

“You’ve reached Doctor Kristin Westphalen, director of Undersea Exploration at the Alvin Institute at the University of Hawaii.  I’m unable to take your call right now, but if you leave me a message, I will return your call as soon as possible.”

Nathan sighed, hoping she had not already left.  Kristin would _kill_ him if she wound up waiting at the restaurant alone.

“Hi, Kristin. It’s Nathan.  I’m afraid that I’m not going to be able to make dinner tonight—I’ve wound up scheduling a meeting to start in fifteen minutes that I can’t miss.  I’m going to have to make it up to you sometime next week—or this Saturday, if you can make the time.”

He glanced at the clock again.  **19:02**. Hopefully, she would at least check her inbox before settling into wait for him for God-only-knew-how-long. 

“Anyway, I’ve got to run, but drop me a line when you get the chance.  Bye—”

He reached for the disconnect button, only to hear Kristin’s voice suddenly interjecting.

“Nathan!  Don’t hang up!”

His finger stopped less than a half an inch away from the button, and Nathan felt a grin split his face.  “Kristin.  Hey.”

“I’m so glad you called,” she said hurriedly.  “I’m at the airport, getting ready to fly to San Diego on a government flight—my flight boards in a few minutes, and I was worrying that I’d never get through to you.  I’ve left you _eight_ messages, Nathan.”

“Sorry,” he replied, abashed.

She gave him a hard look.  “You haven’t heard, have you?”

“Heard what?”

“You really _are_ buried in your work, aren’t you?” Kristin asked rhetorically, looking exasperated.  “Last night there was a major earthquake along the coast of California.  Most of the state has _sunk_ , Nathan.  San Diego’s an island.”

“San Diego is a _what?_ ” was all he could manage to say.  Nathan stared at her in shock, trying to force the words to register.

“An island.  Most of the state is gone.  I’m flying out to help with disaster recovery with my entire medical staff.  They’re saying it was at least an 8.6 on the Richter scale.  Millions are probably dead.”

“Oh…damn.”  It was all he could think of saying.  Nathan felt like his stomach had dropped out, and he just stared.

“You’d best get to that meeting, Nathan,” she said softly.  “I’ve got to go—my flight’s boarding.  I’ll call you when I get there.”

He nodded slowly.  “Alright.  Be safe, Kristin.”

“I’ll try,” she replied, and cut the connection.

For several long moments, all Nathan could do was sit at the terminal and stare at the UEO logo filling the screen.  He’d seen more than his share of battles and bloodshed, but never in his life had he experienced a disaster of this magnitude.  The UEO was going to be stretched to the breaking points to deal with such an earthquake, he knew, and the next few months were going to be rough.

His comm chimed again.  “Captain?” Donna’s voice interrupted his thoughts.  “The contractors from Lockheed Martin and General Dynamics are here, sir.”

“Thanks, Donna,” he said numbly.  “I’ll be right there.”

* * *

Lucas’ body was declaring that it was 1:30 in the morning, and not 2030, like the clock on the desk claimed. He’d been awake for almost twenty hours now, and while sleep sounded wonderful, there was still too much adrenaline and caffeine in his system. And after the last two days he’d had, Lucas really wanted a friend to talk to. So he treated himself to a short, hot shower before changing into a t-shirt and a beat up old pair of jeans.

He was originally going to visit the captain in uniform, but he was too tired for practical jokes right now. He had spent most of last night and early this morning trying to figure out who to talk to and where to go to get on a military flight from Texas to Hawaii, and nine hours on a plane with a mixed group of sailors, airmen, and soldiers all fretting and worrying about the aftermath of the earthquake had left him even more exhausted. Putting a uniform on would mean having to be Lieutenant Wolenczak, and right now he just wanted to be _Lucas_.

The roads were fairly quiet this time of night, so Lucas was able to make good time from the base officer’s quarters where he was staying in to the apartment Captain Bridger had. Lucas had visited him there a few times, back before the second _seaQuest_ had been destroyed, so he knew the way.

Part of him wished the captain lived farther away, so Lucas would have more time to calm himself, but part of him knew if he had to go any farther, he’d only end up more nervous than he already was. All too soon, he was pulling up in front of the complex. He took a deep breath to collect himself before going up to the captain’s door, ringing the bell and waiting for a response.

A long moment passed before he heard the familiar voice yell distantly "Come in!"

The moment he opened the door, the smell of something cooking caught Lucas' attention. Although there was no one in the kitchen that he could see, something seemed to be frying on the stove.

Lucas went to the kitchen to investigate, his mouth watering at the smell. He hadn't had anything to eat in hours.  He called into the apartment: "Do you always leave your front door unlocked, Captain?"

“Lucas!” Bridger came out, wearing a smile and a grungy-looking old jumpsuit.  “When did you get to Pearl?”

"About an hour ago," Lucas said, returning the smile. "It's been a long day, but I figured I'd come surprise you."

“Well, it worked.  I didn’t even know you were coming out here.  And with a haircut, no less!” the captain marveled.  “It’s a miracle—what finally brought that about?”

"Oh, trust me, Captain, I wouldn't have gotten the haircut, but it was required for my new job," Lucas replied. He couldn't help baiting the captain a _little_ bit.

Bridger frowned slightly.  “What new job? I thought you were still working on a third Ph.D. at MIT.”  Then the captain moved over to the stove to check on what he was cooking.  “You want to stay for dinner?”

"Please. I haven't eaten since Dallas, and that was hours ago," Lucas replied. "And I finished the Ph.D. Now the UEO has me doing some top secret computer stuff. Now, what was it my orders said? Oh, right, Project Anzio. Maybe you've heard of it?"

He couldn't keep the grin off his face while waiting for the captain's reaction.

“Can’t say I have,” Bridger deadpanned, but Lucas could see a slight gleam in his eyes.  “And since when do you listen to orders?”

"I always listened to _your_ orders, sir. Besides, Admiral Noyce gave them to me personally," Lucas said. Two could play at this game. "He said you were in charge of Project Anzio. Funny that you haven’t heard of it."

“Did he now?” the captain looked like he was trying hard not to roll his eyes.  He shot Lucas a skeptical look.  “Spit it out, kiddo.  You’ve never been good at lying to me.”

Lucas gave him his best wide-eyed and innocent look. "Lying to you? I haven't been lying to you. I'm going to be doing top secret computer stuff for Project Anzio."

“And?” Bridger prompted, clearly reading Lucas all too well.  “You can tell me what a haircut has to do with that any time now.”

"I'll be reporting for duty officially, tomorrow, of course," Lucas added. He wasn’t sure if it was dragging the joke out or fear of the captain’s reaction that kept him from cutting to the chase.

“ _Reporting_ for duty?  I think you’d best start explaining, Lucas.”  There was an edge in Bridger's voice that Lucas was not sure he particularly liked, but he had no choice but to continue, now.

He had to swallow hard before he could finally get the words out. Lucas found himself straightening out of his customary slouch, almost to attention, as he spoke.  "Well I can't very well be _seaQuest’s_ new Electronic Warfare Officer as a _civilian_ , sir."

Lucas was not sure he’d ever seen Bridger this shocked.

“Come again?”

"I'll be reporting as _seaQuest's_ new EWO tomorrow, sir," he repeated. He would have laughed at the captain's surprise, but he wasn't sure if he was upset at the news or not, and he’d already antagonized the captain enough tonight.

Bridger leaned back against the counter, taking a deep breath.  “You’ve joined the Navy.”  His face was unreadable; Lucas still could not tell what the captain thought of this.  “And _seaQuest._ ”

"Yes, sir." He couldn't think of anything else to say, not until he knew whether the captain approved or not. If he didn't...

“Well, I’ll be damned.”  Bridger sounded somewhat winded, but not terribly surprised.  “You did that to stay with _seaQuest_ , didn’t you?”

"Partly.   _seaQuest_ was home, Captain, but... I couldn't just sit around getting useless degrees while my friends—my _family—_ were out there fighting a war."

Bridger’s smile was suddenly sad.  He spoke softly, “I can understand that feeling.”

"So you're not upset?" Lucas asked, feeling suddenly like he was sixteen again. The captain’s approval meant more to him than anyone else’s.

“I can’t be upset with you, Lucas.”  The captain stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder, wearing a slight smile.  “Your life is your own—I’m just proud of you for doing what you think is right.”

"Even if you don't agree with it?"

“Says who?”

"Everyone knows how you feel about fighting wars, Captain," Lucas said wryly.

Bridger smiled sheepishly.  “So they do.  That doesn’t mean that I don’t think you should do what you think is right, or that I don’t think that some things are worth fighting for.”

"And is all this worth fighting for?" Lucas asked, gesturing vaguely around them. "Or is it back to your private island once _seaQuest_ is done?"

"The thought's occurred to me," was the half-serious response.

Lucas frowned. "Is that a 'maybe'?"

“I’m here, aren’t I?  What’s got you so worried, anyway?”

"Just some things the admiral was saying, I guess," Lucas said. "I probably should have known better than to listen to him."

“Yeah, you should.  He’s got a history of stretching the truth,” Bridger replied lightly.  “What exactly _did_ the admiral say, anyway?”

With that, he turned back to the stove and pulled whatever it was he was cooking off the burner—to Lucas, it looked like stir fry of some sort.  However, Lucas could not miss the fact that Bridger hadn’t exactly answered his question.  In fact, the captain had not answered it at all, and worries rose again.  He swallowed hard.

"He said you were the Project Manager," Lucas said, trying to keep his voice steady.  "In charge of the civilians," he added.

“So I am.  Something wrong with that?  It saves the Navy an awful lot of time and money to have the lead designer as the Project Manager—I get to argue with myself when something costs too much, instead of fighting with someone else.”

"Designer, project manager.... but will you be the _captain_?" Lucas asked, finally cutting to the heart of the matter.

Bridger started slightly, turning back to face him.  “Noyce told you I _wasn’t_?” His slightly confused expression morphed into a scowl.  “He’s really riding for a fall this time.”

"He didn't tell me you weren't, but he didn't tell me you _were_ , either. Are you?" Lucas asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

He failed, of course.

“Of course I am, Lucas.  I may not _like_ war, but we don’t only get to do what we want in life,” Bridger replied.  “Preserving the UEO is worth fighting for.  When _seaQuest_ commissions, I’ll be in command of her.”

He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. "Good. I don't think I could have worked for anyone else."

“I’m complimented, I think.”  Bridger smiled. "So, how many strings did you get Admiral Noyce to pull so that you could replace Schafer?"

"Well, the summer session of OCS was full when I talked to him in April," Lucas replied, eyeing the stir fry hungrily.

Catching his glance, the captain pulled two plates out of the cupboard and started dishing the meat and vegetables on top of some rice.  “Sit down,” he said, gesturing at the table and handing one plate to Lucas.  A small section of it was clear; the rest of it was covered in papers and schematics.  He put a plate down in front of Lucas.  “Beer?”

"Is it alcoholic?" Lucas asked, grinning as he sat down, careful not to disrupt the papers.

"Last I checked."  Bridger handed him a Coors Light and sat down across from him with his own plate.  He swept the papers aside with hardly a glance at them.  “So, Bill got you into OCS.  What else?”

"He made me go to a couple of schools, after," Lucas said. "And he made sure I would get assigned to _seaQuest,_ of course."

“Oh, of course,” was the chuckling response.  “So you’re my EWO, huh?  Hell of a first job for you.  I’ll work you hard, you know.”

"Oh yes, sir. Iron Pants Bridger is legendary at OCS," Lucas said, unable to resist the jab as he opened the beer.

Bridger almost spat out his beer, choking just as he took his first sip.  “ _What_?”

"That _is_ your nickname, isn't it? I mean, some of the case studies they gave us about you, I'd expect you to be... well.... _taller_..." he added innocently.

“I tried to keep that one _off_ of _seaQuest_ ,” the captain muttered, half under his breath, then shot Lucas a suspicious look.  “Are you sure Bill didn’t tell you about that?  I’m sure that they’ve found someone better to talk about at OCS by now.”

"That was the only reason I got a demerit the entire time I was at OCS, sir. I couldn't stop laughing when the lieutenant was going on and on about Iron Pants Bridger," Lucas said, chuckling a little even now at the memory.

“Oh, Lord.” The older man seemed to slump in his chair.  “Maybe someday I’ll tell you about how I got that nickname.  It wasn’t nearly as interesting as people seem to think it should be.”

Lucas grinned, digging in to his food. "I'll make sure the rest of the crew is there."

Bridger wagged a finger at him.  “Don’t even think about it, you.”  But the captain was smiling.  A little.

"Is that an order, sir?" Lucas asked.

"Does it have to be?" Bridger countered.  A moment passed in companionable silence before the captain continued, his voice no longer joking.  “Lucas… You do know that the _seaQuest_ I’m building isn’t a science and research vessel, right?  We’re not reusing the design from _seaQuest_ II, either…when the UEO hesitated to build a third one, I went back to the drawing board.  The _seaQuest_ you’ll be serving on is a warship.”

Lucas put his fork down, meeting the captain’s gaze steadily. "I know _seaQuest_ isn't going to be a science vessel again, sir. If she was, I probably wouldn't have bothered with joining the Navy. But I also know that I'm good at what I do, and the UEO needs all the help it can get right now. I've been watching the newscasts. I heard about Captain Ford's boat, and I heard about the boat Commander Hitchcock was on. If what I do can help them, can help _you_... I have to do it. Regardless of how I feel about war."

“You and me both, kiddo.  You and me both.”

Lucas smiled, relieved that the captain understood, before they both turned back to their dinner and the companionable silence.  After a while, the conversation turned to topics other than the (almost) war, and soon Bridger was telling him about the new boat, until Lucas yawned three times in two minutes, and Bridger sent him off to the spare bedroom to catch some sleep.


	4. seaQuest DSV 4800-III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another exciting chapter! We're going to try and update twice a week if we can, so look for another chapter probably on Thursday or Friday.

**  
_Chapter 4: “seaQuest DSV 4800-III”_   
**

_  
Thirteen Months Earlier -    
_   
18 September 2022

Her keel had been laid just ten months earlier, and the inner hull was complete.  Now, the outer hull was finally beginning to take shape around it, although five or six more months more would pass before the bio-skin was installed.  Inside, she was still just a skeleton; her transverse bulkheads were there, but not much else.  Only a handful of non-critical spaces even existed, and if there were more than four hatches installed on the entire boat, Bridger would have been surprised.

 To the naked eye, she looked just like her destroyed sister, but her designer’s practiced eye could pick out the differences.  Fifty-two feet longer than _seaQuest_ I and II’s 1,007 feet, she was also a bit wider at the beam (no more than eight feet at her widest, though), although her lines were much the same as her predecessors’.  If a casual viewer had made it past the multiple layers of security guarding her, they might have been excused for thinking that she was an exact copy of the late _seaQuest_ II.

Thinking about the last boat made Nathan grimace.  She had been so close to complete, so damn _close_ , and the UEO still had not figured out who had been behind her destruction.  The official report read that a disgruntled shipyard worker had smuggled the required _ton_ of C-84 on board over the span of several weeks, but the worker the security types fingered had conveniently died in the blast.  Personally, Nathan was not entirely sold on the idea that _seaQuest_ II had been destroyed by a man with four children at home and no one to care for them—but the case was officially closed.

With _seaQuest’s_ destruction, however, came a rapid disintegration of the tentative peace the UEO had hammered out following Livingston Trench.  Short-sighted as ever, the politicians running the UEO had declined to build another “overgrown metal squid” after, as they pointed out, her designer had destroyed the first one and a ton of explosives had shattered the second one, along with the 128 workers who were on board at the time.

There weren’t even enough parts to salvage.  Just very small pieces that people took home for souvenirs. 

Nathan had been lucky.  He’d been stuck in yet another meeting discussing (arguing about, more like) the eventual makeup of the boat’s crew when his baby had exploded, and although every window in the building had shattered, he hadn’t even been wounded.  But he didn’t think he would ever forget that day, either—nor the one when he had to call every single one of the returning crew members to tell them that the UEO would not build another _seaQuest._   19.3 billion tax dollars had gone down the drain between the first two, and the UEO did not care if they were shattering the crews’ dreams; the bottom line was more important, and $19.3 billion was a lot of money to spend and still wind up with nothing to show for it.

But her crews’ dreams had not been the only thing shattered; the peace had wound up in as many pieces as their submarine had, and before too long, UEO Command knew that the world was teetering on the brink of war once more.  The politicians smiled, waved, and swore up and down that they had every confidence in the UEO’s current fleet, that so many top-of-the-line submarines could easily pick up where _seaQuest_ left off in May of 2019, but even they started to understand that something was seriously wrong when _every other confederation in the world_ ganged up on the UEO to push the planned economic summit forward from 2026 to 2022.

In November of 2021, just two months before the conference, Bridger had gotten the call.  They needed to build another _seaQuest,_ and fast.  Her keel was laid within the week.

A lot had changed in just ten months, though.  The likelihood of war had moved from “probable” to “ongoing and we just haven’t admitted it yet”, which explained why Admiral Noyce had come all the way to Pearl Harbor’s Building Slip 4A from the new UEO Headquarters in New Cape Quest.  And that explained why Nathan was standing here on the scaffolding next to his newest baby, watching workers swarm all over her hull.

“Hello, Bill.”  Most captains would have popped to attention when an Admiral approached, even if they were in doors and thus shouldn’t salute him.  Nathan didn’t even take his hands out of his pockets.

“Good to see you, Nathan,” his old friend replied cheerfully.  “She looks good.”

Nathan snorted.  “Good is relative.  I could list about eighteen major issues we’re dealing with at the moment, but I doubt you came just to listen to a production report.”

“I’m sure you’ve got a handle on that,” was the breezy reply.

“Yeah, and you never read past the executive summary, anyway.”

“Why should I?” Bill asked with a shrug.  “It’s not like you _write_ the entire report, Nathan.  And I do have plenty of other things on my mind—more than usual, now.  Much more than I’d like.”

“Macronesia?” Nathan asked, noticing the strain in his old friend’s expression.

“I thought you were too wrapped up in your work to notice anything else,” the admiral replied, half-jokingly—but Nathan could hear the seriousness buried in his casual tone. 

 _Things must be even worse than I thought_.

“I do get message traffic,” he replied softly, deciding that he really ought not tease Bill any further.  Nathan did offer a lopsided smile, though.  “And I even read it.  We’ve lost four boats in the last three months—two without any survivors.  I know it’s bad, Bill.”

"Bad doesn't begin to cover it, Nathan," Bill replied. It struck Nathan suddenly how _old_ he sounded. Old wasn't an adjective he'd ever been able to apply to his friend, even if his age might warrant it.

“Then what are you doing here instead of running things in New Cape Quest?”

“I’m here because we need to talk about her.” The admiral jerked his head towards the newborn submarine.  “The politicians are in negotiations again, so things should be quiet for a month or so…but I doubt it’ll last long.  You’re sure about the February 2024 launch date?”

“Unfortunately,” Nathan admitted. “We might be able to push it, but probably not by much…building a boat like this takes time, Bill.  The first boat was six years from keel to commissioning, and the only reason the last one was going to be done so quickly was because the UEO had started building her as a sister ship for _seaQuest_ a year before the boat was destroyed, not as a replacement.”

“I know, I know… It’s just—we need to talk, Nathan.  About her, and about everything else.  This mess with Macronesia is going to blow up in our faces before too long, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns into all-out war.”

Nathan swallowed, and as much as he didn’t want to say the words, he _had_ to.  “Yeah.  Neither would I.”

“Usually you have a lot more to say on the topic of war,” his friend said after a moment, throwing him a significant glance.

He shrugged helplessly.  “What do you want me to say, Bill?  That I hate war? That I wish we, as humanity, could figure out how to _talk_ to each other instead of killing each other?  That’s nothing new.  I learned to hate war the first time I fought one.  I still, as you put it so succinctly a few years back, ‘could shoot when I needed to’.”

“What about now?” Bill wanted to know.  “Can you still shoot when you need to?  _Will_ you, if it comes down to war?”

Of course Bill was going to ask the question.  As Nathan’s friend, he might not want to, but as the Chief of Naval Operations, he had to.  Nathan had signed on to build the second _seaQuest_ because she was designed with a primarily scientific mission in mind.   And he’d stuck around for this one because…well, because she was _seaQuest_.  He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.  Not any more.

But what Bill wanted to know, what Bill had to know, was what Nathan planned to do if there was a war on when _seaQuest’s_ commissioning rolled around.  He knew about the promise Nathan had made Carol eleven years ago, and he remembered that Nathan hadn’t wanted to come back into the service in the first place, even as a peacekeeper. 

When Nathan remained quiet, his friend spoke softly:

“If you don’t want to stay on as her captain, just say the word.  I’ll find someone else.  Hell, once word gets out that we’re building a new one, qualified commanding officers will be beating the door down.  We might even be able to give her to Commander—excuse me, _Captain_ —Ford, if you want.”

Now _that_ was tempting.  If he could leave her in Jonathan’s hands, Nathan might be able to leave with a clear conscience…

 _No._   No, he couldn’t.

Besides, he had already made his decision.  Had made it some time ago, in fact, right around the time that he’d gotten word that Dalton Phillips, _seaQuest’_ s old Weapons Officer, had been killed in action.  Hearing about that had made Nathan start wondering how he’d feel if he got word that Jonathan, or Katie, or any of _seaQuest’s_ other officers or crew had been killed…and especially about how he would feel if it happened while he was sitting high, dry, and safe on shore, avoiding war because his _principles_ told him to.

Nathan shook his head. 

“I’ll stay,” he said softly.

Bill started.  “Are you—?”

“Yeah,” he cut him off.  “Let’s go to my office, Bill.  I’ve got something to show you.”

When they reached Nathan’s office, after passing through three separate security checkpoints—the one really annoying part about building a boat in absolute secrecy was the multiple layers of security wrapped around the entire process—he pulled up the plans he had been working on for the past month, and watched Bill’s eyes grow wider and wider.

“You’ve taken out all of the science sections,” his old friend said softly.

Nathan smiled sadly.  “We either do it now or do it later.  Doing it now is cheaper…and we can always put them back when the war’s over.”

Bill, however, was still staring at the blueprints, his mouth drooping open slightly.

“This is a… _major_ change, Nathan.”

“I know.  But if we’re going to build a warship, Bill, we might as well build a _warship_.  With these changes, nothing on or under the water will be able to touch her—no matter how many _Lysanders_ the Macronesians punch out.”

“You have been paying attention.”  Bill’s smile was still somewhat stunned, but pleased.

Nathan laughed, surprising even himself by how light his voice was.  “I’m a weapons and warship designer by trade.  Of _course_ I’m paying attention to everyone’s new toys.  And if it’s all right with you, I prefer mine to be better than theirs.”

“I know that feeling,” his friend said feelingly, and then turned to the practical heart of the matter.  “How much time will this add to her construction schedule?”

“If we implement the changes now, not much at all.  Construction is still at the point where we won’t have to rip anything _out_ to put the new spaces and equipment in.”  Nathan gestured at a section of the plans on E Deck.  “But it will be more expensive.  The Torpedo Handling System alone is going to require a lot of funding.”

“Ah, screw the money.”  Bill grinned suddenly.  “It’s all coming from non-military funds anyway because the project is so secret, so it’s not like anyone’s going to notice.  Consider the changes approved.”

“You don’t want to see the rest?” Nathan knew that Bill had been known to shoot from the hip, but a two or three additional _billion_ dollars was nothing to laugh about.

“Do I need to?”

Nathan snorted.  _Some people never change._ “You might like them,” he pointed out.

“Well, in that case, let show and tell commence.”

* * *

 _  
The Present -    
_   
28 October 2023

“Captain, Sonar, I think I may have something, sir.”

Jonathan was out of his rack and moving towards the door before the words coming from the speaker on his cabin’s bulkhead even sank in.  Although he had been catching a catnap in the early afternoon to balance out several nights of two or three hours’ sleep, hearing Miguel’s voice immediately jerked him into full consciousness.  His feet carried him down the passageway and towards the bridge almost on their own.

“What’s up?” he asked, arriving on the bridge amidst the traditional announcement of:

“Captain on the bridge!” his Officer of the Deck called.

Jonathan ignored it; so did Miguel.  “I’ve got something intermittent on the towed array.  The computer thinks it’s a biologic, but I’m not so sure.  The sound is too rhythmic to be a whale,” his sonar officer answered.

“You think it’s our friend?”

“It’s definitely nothing in the UEO’s Navy,” Miguel replied immediately.  “Or any of our allies.  It _could_ be nothing.”

Jonathan managed not to smile, but it was hard.  He was tired enough that containing his emotions was difficult, no matter how much he knew a captain should do so.  “But you don’t think so.”

“Not really, no.” 

Miguel shut his mouth with a snap, listening closely.  Jonathan remained silent, refusing to bother him—sonarmen were a strange breed in general, and Miguel was the best one he had ever worked with.  He’d said as much to the Warrant Officers’ Board a year before, and flattered himself to think that he was one of the reasons Miguel had finally accepted a commission. Miguel Ortiz _was_ the best, and _Atlantis_ really needed him now.

Still on the way back from the incident at  Rochefort Station, Jonathan’s boat had received a distress call from the UEO supply ship USNS _Medgar Evers_ , which had been torpedoed by an unknown submarine deep in UEO waters.  He’d rushed to their assistance and wound up helping the giant surface ship stay afloat until several tugs could arrive a week later—and then, only _then_ , had the mystery submarine shown up again.

It had announced its presence with a huge torpedo strike, putting fourteen fish in the water within the span of thirty seconds, a firing rate no boat in the UEO’s arsenal could match.  _Atlantis_ had managed to avoid the ten thrown her way, but two had struck one of the tugs towing _Medgar Evers_ , blowing her up with all hands on board. 

Worse yet, the mystery sub, _Atlantis’_ so-called “friend”, had reached firing range without any of the five UEO ships in the area noticing her.  They’d started hunting for her immediately, of course, but except for a few elusive hits here and there, the sub might as well have been invisible.  Even replaying the sonar tapes did not enable Miguel or Jonathan’s other sonarmen to find her.

Their friend was simply… _silent._

Miguel had determined that she was Macronesian from the sound of the torpedoes the enemy boat sent their way from time to time before disappearing again.  So far, Jonathan had managed to avoid all of the potshots thrown at them, but only thanks to the brand-new Mark 209 Interceptor.  _Atlantis’_ departure for her current patrol had been delayed in order to on load the Navy’s newest version of the intercept torpedo.  At the time, Jonathan had been frustrated by the days it took to swap out her entire intercept loadout, but now he was grateful for them.  The old Mark 206s would not have stopped whatever torpedoes the Macronesian boat was carrying, and _Atlantis_ would have been on the bottom of the ocean by now.

But despite that new ability to defend themselves, _Atlantis_ had yet to be able to take an effective shot at her enemy.  They couldn’t even get a firing solution on them, let alone manage to hit her!  Twenty days after moving to _Medgar Evers’_ assistance and thirteen after leaving her to commence a search for this stealth submarine, Jonathan was no closer to finding her than he had been before.

He had a bad feeling that the CO of the Macronesian boat was playing with him, giving _Atlantis_ a sniff every time that the UEO boat might be starting to lose hope of finding her.  He didn’t like that feeling, but he wasn’t about to lie to himself about it, either.  Things were getting bad if a Macronesian sub could sneak around in UEO waters without anyone managing to pinpoint its location.

“Anything?” he finally prompted Miguel.

“Um…” A long moment of silence passed.  “I think so.  Not enough to do a complete workup on her signature, but enough to follow her.  Probably.”

“But have they heard _us_?” Jonathan had to know.

Miguel shook his head.  “I don’t think so.”

A smile split Jonathan’s face, and he squeezed his sonar officer’s shoulder.  “Good job, Miguel.”

“Thanks, sir.”  The answer was distracted; Ortiz was listening closely.  “Best guess…she bears two-four-nine, moving at about fifteen knots.  TMA indicates course of about…one-four-five.  Maybe one-four-zero.  Range is about one mile.  Her depth is about one thousand feet—she’s above the layer, which is probably why she hasn’t heard us yet.”

Swinging to face his Officer of the Deck, Jonathan ordered: “Let’s get in behind her.  Come around to one-eight zero for an intercept course, but I want you to come around _slowly_ , Lucy.  Don’t let her hear us.”

His officer of the deck nodded tensely.  “Aye, sir,” she replied, nodding to her conning officer to relay the necessary orders to the two sailors on _Atlantis’_ helm.  She glanced at Ford questioningly.  “Do you want to go to General Quarters, Captain?”

“Not yet,” he replied, taking a calculated risk.  “Let’s see if we can’t hold her, first.”

His crew was worn out; their patrol _should_ have already been over, and they’d been tracking an elusive enemy for days now.  Everyone was exhausted, and if the Macronesian was just going to disappear again, Jonathan refused to wear them down further for a false alarm.  Of course, if the Macronesian noticed them and opened fire, things could get cute in a hurry, but Jonathan trusted his watch standers.  They would handle the pressure, if necessary.

It turned out to be the right decision.  Two hours later, _Atlantis_ lost contact with the mystery boat, and despite several days of fruitless searching, never found her again.  When Jonathan turned his boat back towards Pearl Harbor, though, at least it was with the knowledge that he had uncovered information that the UEO needed—even if that boat was still out there somewhere.

* * *

Dragging Lucas out of bed was a bit challenging, but Nathan was willing to give him a pass, particularly since Lucas had been in five different time zones over the past two days, and his body was probably still trying to figure out which direction was up.  Of course, that did put Nathan well behind the schedule he usually liked to keep, but since he’d been at the shipyard so late the night before, he didn’t really mind going in a bit later.

Lucas did, however, give him the strangest look when they walked out of the apartment complex to the waiting car.

"One too many speeding tickets, Captain?" Lucas asked, climbing into the backseat of the car.

“Funny,” Nathan replied dryly, also climbing into the backseat as Petty Officer Riley, his driver, tried rather too obviously not to laugh.  “But no.”

"Oh. I figured having your license revoked would be the only way you'd agree to having a driver. Not really your style," Lucas said.

“No, it isn’t.  But security on this ‘project’ of ours is so tight that I don’t get an option.”  He shrugged.  “At least it means that I don’t get in bleary-eyed accidents when I drive home after working too late.”

Riley half-twisted around, speaking as he eased the car onto the highway.  His expression was innocently sincere, as if he and Nathan had not had this discussion a half hundred times before.  “And it keeps you from getting yourself shot, Captain, which might just be important.”

"Shot?" Lucas asked, clearly surprised and worried. "There was a chance of you getting shot?"

“Not really, no,” he sighed, pausing to glare at his driver.  “But the security types—like Riley here—seem to think so.  Honestly, Lucas, it’s just how black projects work.  Someone decides there’s a threat, and everyone else overreacts.”

Riley ignored the glare—he was accustomed to Bridger’s impatience where security restrictions were concerned—but Lucas seemed at least a little mollified.  And it wasn’t like anyone had _actually_ threatened Bridger; no one knew they were building the new boat, so why target him?  Nathan changed the subject.

"We'd best drop by your Q room and pick you up a uniform before we head to the shipyard."

"Yeah, sure," Lucas said, and then made a face.  "You know, as much as I want to go see the boat, it really could wait until Monday. Or at least later in the day, you know.”

Bridger chuckled.  _Teenagers!_ Except Lucas wasn’t a teenager, now, and unless Nathan missed his guess, he was going to get a very rude awakening when he encountered the typical Navy lifestyle.  “This is late in the day, kiddo; it’s after nine.  I usually get in at seven.”

The expression on Lucas’ face would have made college students and teenagers everywhere proud. "Some of us like to sleep until more civilized hours, on the weekend, anyway."

“Some of us have twelve billion dollar submarines to build.”

Yeah, there was _definitely_ going to be a rude awakening coming up soon.  Bridger suppressed a smile at the thought.  Lucas had been like a son to him for a long time, now, and the kid meant the world to him—but he’d made his choice, and Nathan had no intention of giving Lucas any special treatment because of his emotional attachment to him.  Besides, it’d be good for the kid.

Lucas let out a low whistle. "Twelve billion? Not bad. Not bad at all."

“Eleven-point-nine, anyway, at last estimate.  _And_ she’s slightly behind schedule.  When the contractors work Saturdays, so do the people supervising them.”  Nathan gave him a pointed look.  “Nowadays, that includes you, Lucas.”

"You don't need to keep reminding me, Captain. I was just expecting to have had a little more sleep," Lucas said.

 _Sure I don’t_ , Nathan thought to himself, but he smiled.  “Right."

Fortunately, Nathan’s apartment was located less than a mile from the base’s main gate, and the “Q,” or Bachelor Officers’ Quarters, was not too far from there.   It wasn’t precisely on the way to the yards, but at least the trip would not take much longer than usual. That, and Nathan actually owned a mini comp these days, and could get some work done while he waited for Lucas.





He was already checking email by the time Lucas got out of the car, finding that he had a disturbing number of messages from one of the sub-contractors concerning parts availability.  Fortunately, he now had himself a Supply Officer who could deal with such concerns, so he forwarded all twelve of the emails to Krieg.  

Unfortunately, that didn’t cover the other forty-six emails that he’d received since he left the yards the night before, and they kept him plenty busy while Lucas showered and changed.  He did, however, possess the presence of mind to look up from the mini-comp as soon as Lucas got back into the car.  He’d gained a rather unpleasant amount of experience in the consequences of ignoring other passengers, thanks to Kristin, and the habit was finally broken.  Mostly.

Something strange caught his eye the moment Lucas slid into the seat next to him.  At first, Nathan thought it was just the sight of Lucas in a _uniform_ that was throwing him off, and then he saw the rank insignia on Lucas’ khakis. "Wait a minute.  When did you say you graduated from OCS?"

"End of August. Why?" Lucas asked.

"Unless something changed while I wasn't paying attention, you should be an ensign. Not a Lieutenant Junior Grade."

Lucas smirked. "I'm just that high-speed, Captain."

"Let me guess. This was Admiral Noyce's idea." He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. _I bet you think you're being cute, don't you, Bill?_

"Not just his idea. You should have seen the looks on my classmates’ faces when the CNO pinned my rank on _and_ promoted me," Lucas replied, still smirking.

“I bet,” Nathan said dryly.  Typical Bill Noyce, that.  But it was useful, at least. Lucas was in a department head billet, and it would help him to be a little higher on the food chain than an ensign was.

That was especially true because the Bureau of Personnel, in all of their infinite wisdom, had decided to _leave_ Chris Schafer on board despite the fact that they'd given Lucas his job. Schafer was now the Communications Officer, working for Tim, and though that job was probably a better fit than making him EWO would have been, it was still going to make things interesting.  _And if Lucas was an ensign, it would only have made matters worse,_ Nathan thought to himself. _At least this way he's not too far behind Schafer in seniority._

Five minutes later, they had reached the Naval Shipyards and were threading their way through the security checkpoints. Doing so left Nathan more frustrated than he would have liked to admit; his security pass would see him waved through, but he had to get Lucas a badge, which meant almost another hour passed before they entered the giant sheltering "shed" in which _seaQuest_ lived.

It was hardened against almost any attack the UEO could conceivably predict, and actually had a floating drydock installed for when the boat was finally ready to be launched. The entire shed was dry right now, though the pair still entered on the main level, which left them even with _seaQuest's_ centerline.

The wait had been worth it, though, to see Lucas' expression of awe and amazement at seeing this new _seaQuest_ for the first time.  Now, Bridger did not even attempt to suppress his smile.

“What do you think, kiddo?”

“She's..." He gestured a little towards the boat.

He took that to mean she was amazing, if even Lucas was left speechless.

“Yeah,” Nathan agreed quietly, feeling the same rush of pride he did every time he looked at _seaQuest_.  “Yeah, she is.”

"She looks almost done," Lucas said, finding his voice.

“Almost is relative, unfortunately,” he admitted.  “We finished installing the bio-skin a week ago, which is why she looks so good from the outside, but there’s still a lot of interior work going on.  Most of the main systems are in place, but we’ve got a bit over four months until launching is scheduled.”

"Oh. Will that be long enough?" Lucas asked.  For some people, Bridger would have had to explain all of the issues involved, but Lucas _was_ a genius, and he’d been involved enough in the building of the last _seaQuest_ that he understood the multitude of moving parts and things that could go wrong in shipbuilding.

“It’ll have to be,” Nathan grunted. “The world isn’t getting any quieter, though having _seaQuest_ in the water might change that.”




"It worked before, didn't it?"

“Only after everything went to hell first,” he answered, running his eyes over his boat again.  “I hope we can prevent that this time…but if not, well, you’ll see shortly that this _seaQuest_ is a bit different from the last one, Lucas.”

"Did you get that sauna you wanted, this time?" Lucas joked, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

Nathan chuckled.  “No, not this time.  I did get a whole lot more torpedo and missile tubes, though, so it’s a good trade off.”  He smiled.  “And I did get clearance to have a few additional dolphins on board, too.”

Lucas' eyes lit up. "I bet Darwin's glad he'll be having some friends."

“He seems eager, yeah.  Now, care for a tour?”

"I'd love one."

“Come on, then,” he said, grinning.  Technically, Bridger had work to do—enough to keep him busy on Sunday, too, if he came in—but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to give Lucas his first tour on _seaQuest_. He tried to do that for all of the original crew members who came back; he’d done so for Ben and for Tim, and for Chief Crocker, as well.  Busy though he might be, Nathan refused to give up the fun parts of his job, even if it meant working weekends.

He led Lucas into the boat, unable to ignore the fact that the young lieutenant was grinning like a schoolchild on his first trip to the zoo.  Nathan was hardly able to contain the same kind of excitement; every time he showed _seaQuest_ off to someone, he felt the same rush of wonder.  It was something he hoped he would never lose, no matter how rough the years to come might be.

* * *

Ben strolled through a half-finished passageway on _seaQuest’s_ main deck, whistling a jaunty tune as he avoided a group of welding shipyard workers. Life was good—the captain had given him his lieutenant commander rank back, he was on the best boat in the Navy, with people he considered friends, doing the work he loved the most. Nothing could ruin his good mood right now.

Even the fact that the return of the rank wasn’t _technically_ a promotion couldn’t dull Ben’s mood.  He’d received what the Navy called a “spot promotion” because he was filling a job usually detailed to someone of higher rank, but the pay was the same and he got to wear the rank, which made it real enough for him.  Sure, he might have to give it back when he left _seaQuest_ if he had not been promoted for real by then, but that was a problem to face a couple of years down the road.  Today was too good for worries.

Except…Tim O'Neill stood in the middle of the passageway, hands on his hips, glaring at Ben and doing his best to ruin a perfectly good afternoon.

“Commander Krieg, I'd like to have a word with you," Tim said, spitting out Ben's new rank with obvious distaste. Ben wasn't sure why he had his briefs in a twist, since the captain had made sure _he_ received a spot promote to lieutenant commander months ago, which actually made Tim senior to him, now. But as much as that rankled, Ben wasn't about to delve too deeply into the mind of _seaQuest_ 's old Communications Officer, especially since he now bore the highfaluting title of Operations Officer.

"What can your friendly Supply and Morale officer do for you today, Lieutenant?" Ben asked, flashing Charming Grin Number Sixteen. If possible, Tim's glare increased in intensity, and Ben scaled his grin down to Helpful Smile Number Nine.

Tim brandished a sheaf of papers at Ben. "Do you know what these are?" Ben tried to catch a look, but Tim wasn't making it easy on him.

"Ah, they appear to be requisition forms. Is there a problem with them?"

"Yes, there's a problem with them!" Tim exploded. Ben raised his eyebrows in surprise. Tim O'Neill just wasn't the type of person to lose his temper like this, even with someone like Ben.

"Why don't we head back to the building, go to my office and you can tell me what's wrong with them, so we can get this all straightened out?" Ben said in his most placating tone possible. If Tim was going to act like a wild animal ready to attack, Ben would treat him like one. He'd had lots of practice with Katie over the years.  Besides, getting him off the boat would get Tim away from any metal odds and ends he might try to bash Ben over the head with, given his current mood.  “I just got a load of supplies in, I think there’s some nice, soothing herbal tea in there you’d like. Caffeine free.”

“That’s exactly the problem, Krieg. You didn’t requisition any herbal tea, and yet you have it anyway,” Tim said, brandishing the papers again. “You’ve got three crates worth of supplies that you shouldn’t.”

Understanding dawned on Ben. Clearly, stress was getting to the younger officer, because normally he would have noticed that there were a lot more than _three_ crates that he hadn’t officially ordered. “Look, uh, Tim, don’t worry about what the forms say. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of other things to worry about, what with how Captain Bridger has made you his acting executive officer. _Trust_ me.”

“I wouldn’t trust you if you were the last person left on Earth,” Tim retorted. Ben winced, both for effect and because the words really did sting.

“You wound me, Tim. I thought we were friends. The captain has trusted me to do my job, and you should too. By the time we get underway, we’ll be stocked and ready to go with all of the essentials,” Ben replied.  “And then some.”

He couldn’t resist adding the last part, even if common sense told him he probably shouldn’t.

Tim looked like he would have physically thrown himself at Ben at that point, had Chief Crocker not come by at just the right moment to save him.

"Chief Crocker! Just the man I was looking for!" Ben lied through his teeth, flashing a large grin at the older man.

“Somethin’ I can do for you, Commander?” Crocker looked like he remembered Ben all too well from the first _seaQuest_ tour; his expression was wary.  “And it’s Master Chief, sir.  But you can still call me Chief, if you want.”

"Right, of course, Master Chief. I needed to talk to you about that.... thing." _Not one of your better plans, Ben..._

“Thing, sir?” Crocker was throwing him one of those looks only Navy chiefs could manage, the ones that told officers that they knew said officer was full of bull, and there was no way this side of Hell a chief was going to help him dig his way out. 

Ben wracked his mind desperately for something, _anything_ he could say to convince Crocker to help him. "Yeah, you know, the thing you asked me about the other day. In private."

“Riiight.  Oh, but that reminds me.  Mister O’Neill, did you see the orders that just popped in message traffic?  I was over in Admin, and the yeoman wanted me to let you know.  We’ve got a new Sonar Officer coming—one a bunch of us should recognize.  Though I can’t imagine that it’s made Captain Ford all that happy, us stealing him.  He should be here in about a week. ”

Tim was faster on the uptake than Ben, but only by a second.  “We got _Miguel?”_

“Yes, sir,” Crocker grinned.  “Though he’s Chief Warrant Officer Ortiz these days, so he’ll hang out with all you officers and gentlemen instead of us lowly and dirty chiefs.”

"Lots of promotions going around lately, seems like," Ben said.

“Sorry to disappoint you that you ain’t the only one,” was Crocker’s quick retort.  But the Master Chief was still smiling, and Tim seemed to be trying hard not to snicker.

“Next thing you know, Darwin will be getting promoted to a junior grade," Ben said, as mock woefully as he could manage. "What's this Navy coming to?"

"Tell me about it. They promoted _you_ ," Tim chimed in, rolling his eyes. "Twice."

Ben grinned and shrugged. "They were out of admiral stars at the Exchange, so I had to settle with this."

Tim and Crocker both laughed, and suddenly it felt like old times.

"Master Chief here is Chief of the Boat, now," Tim explained after a moment of chuckling. "Apparently, since we did away with the science contingent, we're also doing away with the strange rank structure the UEO forced on us to go with it."

 "That's COB to you, sir, in case you've forgotten how these Navy things work," Crocker added with an innocent smile.

"I'll keep that in mind. Now if you two fine gentlemen will excuse me, I've got some work to do," Ben said, sidestepping around them as quickly as he could in his attempt to make a hasty retreat before Tim remembered to yell at him again.

Thankfully, Crocker's appearance seemed to have cooled Tim's temper, because the other officer only yelled after him: "Fill out the damn forms, next time, will you? I'm getting sick of covering for you with the squadron!"

Ben waved a hand in appeasement, though they both knew the supplies _seaQuest_ took in wouldn't necessarily match the forms Ben filled out. If they had, Ben wouldn't be as good a Supply Officer as he was.

He started whistling again, picking up where he left off. _Yes, today really_ is _a good day._

* * *

30 October 2023

Tim had known they would be getting a replacement EWO at some point, after he had seen the ORDMOD shifting Lieutenant Schafer to Tim’s old position as Communications Officer. The change meant that Schafer would be working for Tim, which made things a bit interesting; technically, Tim wasn’t much more senior than his new division officer, although the spot promote to Lieutenant Commander that he had received a few months ago neatly rectified that situation.  He did expect a few problems from Schafer, but Chris was a good officer, overall, so Tim figured that he could deal with them. What he _hadn’t_ been expecting was for the captain to call him on a Sunday to inform Tim he would be acting as a mentor for their new officer.

He’d been confused, anxious, and flattered by the captain’s decision, but then Bridger had gone on to explain that Schafer’s replacement would be Lucas, of all people. Lucas _in the Navy._   Tim had been shocked, of course, but sure enough, there was a message waiting for him containing Lucas’ orders.

The better part of yesterday had been spent preparing for the meeting he had scheduled with Lucas for today, remembering back to all of the things he had struggled with during his own first experience as a department head. Tim could admit he had been nervous, but working under Captain Bridger and Commander Ford had helped him grow as an officer.

He was _still_ nervous, especially with the idea of taking Lucas under his metaphorical wing, but he was learning to accept the faith the captain put in him as not being misplaced. Sometimes his fear of failure got the best of him, but lately he had barely had time to worry about messing something up, with all of the work he was doing both as Operations Officer and acting XO.

Tim didn’t anticipate that adding Lucas to the mix would be too difficult. They had served together before, and Tim would even go so far as to consider the younger man his friend, even if they had lost touch over the last few years. He remembered Lucas as being dedicated to his work and always eager to learn new things, qualities Tim could appreciate in anyone. Knowing Lucas, he would have all of the ins and outs of being a department head figured out within a few weeks.

Checking his watch, Tim frowned. Lucas was five minutes late. He shuffled his papers around, telling himself there was no reason to worry. Lucas probably just got lost trying to find Tim’s office. He would give the younger officer a few more minutes.

He was just about to call Lucas’ comm device when there was a knock at his door. “Enter,” he called out. Lucas came in, looking flustered.

“Hey, Tim, sorry I’m late. I got caught up in work. Captain Bridger’s got me running diagnostics on everything already,” Lucas said, dropping into a seat without invitation. Tim was shocked, both by Lucas’ uniform and short haircut, and his casual manner in greeting a senior officer. “What’s up?”

 _Oh boy,_ he thought. _This is going to be harder than I thought_.

“The captain told you I’d be acting as your mentor?” Tim asked. Lucas nodded, grinning. Tim gave him a small frown in return.

“Let me give you some advice…”


	5. Smoke and Mirrors

1 November 2023

 Sometimes, the time difference between the new UEO Headquarters at New Cape Quest and the base in Pearl Harbor was a real pain.  Like now, when the vidlink started trilling while Nathan was still face down and asleep in his apartment.

A quick glance at the clock showed him that it wasn’t even four in the morning, yet.  _Great. I’ve been in bed for less than three hours._   Levering himself up on his elbows, Nathan glared at the caller’s identification code before answering:

“Why are you calling me on a secure line at three…forty-nine in the morning, Bill?” he asked tiredly, blinking.

“Bad news, Nathan.  We just got word that Howland and Baker Islands have joined the Alliance of Macronesia.”

“ _What?”_   Now he was sitting up straight, and didn’t even notice when both his pillows landed on the floor.  Howland and Baker were the UEO’s two closest islands to Macronesia; former US possessions that had gained independence in the last decade, the islands’ populations had boomed after undersea colonies had expanded both their resources and their real estate exponentially.  Neither was very significant in a strategic sense, but both had been firm allies of the UEO.  _Until now, apparently._

“President Bourne claims that they voluntarily swapped sides, but there’s evidence of some pretty significant arm-twisting,” Bill replied tightly, looking worried.

Nathan’s mind whirled.  His first assessment of neither island being very significant was still true, but the fact that both were now Macronesian allies was disturbing, even if neither had swapped sides willingly. Their new status brought the border between the UEO and Macronesia about seven hundred nautical miles east, gaining them somewhere in the vicinity of 1.8 million square miles of territory if they pushed the rest of their border out to meet the new acquisitions.  _And that’s seven hundred miles_ closer _to Pearl Harbor._

If actual war did break out, only an idiot would think that one of Macronesia’s main goals would not be Pearl Harbor.  Long a bastion of naval power, the base was the UEO’s most significant foothold in the Pacific, far stronger than the Johnston Atoll Naval Base a thousand miles away.  Nathan had been involved in various war games over the last few decades, and he knew that he was sitting on top of one of Macronesia’s key objectives.  Pearl was the one place Macronesia _had_ to own if Bourne truly wanted to control the Pacific Ocean, and he was certain that the base’s security types would be working long hours to make sure that it was secure.

But he wasn’t the base commander, so why was Bill calling him?

“Why tell me personally, Bill?” he asked tersely, his mind still working its way around possibilities and probabilities.“I’m sure I’ll see the update in the morning.”

The news would be all over message traffic, after all, and there wasn’t like there was a damn thing Nathan could do about the situation, anyway.  The news was bad, but it could wait.  _Not that I’ll go back to sleep, now_ , Nathan knew.  No, he knew himself.  He’d spend the rest of the morning staring at the ceiling and contemplating which ways the coming war would go.

“UEO Command is holding a top secret Strategy Board meeting on the twenty-eighth.  I want you there.”

He wanted _what?_   Nathan blinked, staring at his old friend.  “I’m just a captain, you know.”

“You’re _seaQuest’s_ captain, Nathan,” Bill countered.  “This isn’t a time for false modesty.  You’ve fought more undersea wars than anyone else on the Strategy Board, and if we’re laying down actual war plans, I want you involved.”

He couldn’t dispute a word of what the admiral was arguing, but thus far in his career, Nathan had avoided becoming anything more than a warfighter—and only that when he had to be. He had always tried to keep himself operating on the tactical and operational level, and he disliked the idea of playing chess with military forces, particularly when his fellow chess players were armchair admirals, by-the-book generals, and politicians.  _But on the other hand…_

On the other hand, this was a chance to change the things he usually wound up complaining about.

Nathan had held several significant commands in World War III, and he’d spent much of that time—and his time on _seaQuest_ , truth be told—chaffing under the idiotic orders that so-called “strategists” came up with, or ignoring those orders when he felt the need to.  He’d been in the Navy for thirty-one years (ignoring his seven year “leave of absence”, as Bill often called it), and had seen plenty of brilliance and stupidity in equal parts, much of it in war games…and some of it during actual war.  And it wasn’t like he had no experience on the strategic end.  Nathan had always had a gift for looking beyond the tactical situation to the overarching strategy behind it, which had served him very well during _seaQuest’_ s last tour.

Almost since the time he had gained his first command, he had played the enemy for war games, because he _was_ known for his strategic and tactical sneakiness.  When he was being honest with himself (something he had had to do a lot of in the last few months), Nathan knew he was damn good at his job.  

And now Bill was offering him a chance to make a difference.  How could he say no?

The admiral must have seen the look on his face.  “I’ll have a military flight waiting for you on the evening of the twenty-sixth.  Factoring in time differences, you won’t miss more than a day of work.”

“All right, Bill,” Nathan gave in.

He wasn’t sure he liked the fact that he’d been invited, but he wasn’t sure that he _didn’t_ either.  His conflicted thoughts brought the old Robert E. Lee quote to mind: _“It is well that war is so terrible—lest we should grow too fond of it.”_  

Nathan had spent a lot of years dwelling on the terrible parts of war, and now he found the _fascinating_ elements of it creeping up on him: the challenge, the adrenaline, the feeling of doing something that _mattered_.  The part of himself that answered war’s siren call was one he had thought to leave behind a long time ago…and now he found that service to his homeland again called him to use those skills. 

He could accept that need, in theory.  He could even embrace it as a way to protect the crew who had become his family during the last tour on _seaQuest_.  But Nathan felt that he ought to at least partially hate that acceptance…and he could not.

Not anymore.

* * *

6 November 2023

The last place Jonathan really wanted to be was back at the squadron, but the commander of UEO SUBRON (Submarine Squadron) 3 _was_ his boss, and information like this was best amplified in person.  He’d sent his report to Commodore Allan after returning to homeport five days ago, but even then he had known that any report containing references to a mysterious Macronesian stealth sub—particularly one _Atlantis_ had never managed to track for more than an hour—was not going to go over well.

Allan hadn’t liked the report one bit, of course, but that hadn’t stopped him from sharing it with Jonathan’s fellow captains…or at least the ones that weren’t underway.  One of them, Commander Whitney of _Magellan_ , was an old friend, so Jonathan had no worries about his reaction, but the other one was waiting on him when he came out of Allan’s office that morning.

 _Leave it to Oliver Hudson to go_ looking _for a confrontation_ , Jonathan thought, trying not to groan.  _He’s bored, of course.  Perhaps someone ought to tell him that when you lose a boat, you have to wait a few months before you get a new command.  Maybe then he’ll be more careful with the next one!_

Word on the street was that Hudson was going to get _Scorpion_ , which was the newest, shiniest boat in the fleet.  _Scorpion_ was the best command a captain could ask for, and it rankled just a bit to know that his rival was going to get her.  Not that he would trade _Atlantis_ for anything, but he was still a bit annoyed, despite his best efforts not to be.

He didn’t _mean_ to be stuck in this never ending competition with Hudson.  It just seemed to have happened anyway.

Hudson was stuck in the SUBRON headquarters right now, though, since he wouldn’t get _Scorpion_ until her first CO left in a few weeks.  He didn’t really have a job, per se, no more than Jonathan had when he was kicking his heels in the months after losing _SeaWolf._ Hudson served as Commodore Allan’s all-purpose hatchet man, bouncing between tactical development and overseeing training for other boats when they were in port.  He was good at both jobs, but he was _also_ good at driving Jonathan insane.

“I saw your report, Jonathan,” Hudson started off in an offhand tone.   “Made for interesting bedside reading.”




"I'm glad you found the report about an advanced enemy submarine to be compelling reading," Jonathan replied dryly.

"Compelling _fiction_ , maybe. You don't have an ounce of proof that such a sub actually exists, and we both know that there's nothing in the water like that. If Macronesia had some advanced stealth submarine, they wouldn't waste it attacking a supply vessel."

Jonathan had to rein his temper in sharply. "I was there, Oliver. Unless you think those torpedoes that blew the tug out of the water came from _aliens._ "

"Don't be ridiculous. There are plenty of logical explanations for how a sub could have slipped past you—such as subpar sonar operators."

This time, he didn't try to stop his anger. "Miguel Ortiz is the best sonarman in the entire Navy. I'd stake my career and my reputation on it."

"Seems like one hell of a gamble..." Hudson trailed off meaningfully.

 _Punching him won't make him any less of an ass, and will only get you in trouble,_ he reminded himself firmly, hating the fact that he needed to. "That sub made it past _five_ UEO boats before it got those torpedoes off. I could _maybe_ believe one sonar operator missing it, but _five_? I don't think so."

"Stranger things have happened," the other captain retorted. "And that's certainly no less fantastic an idea than some Macronesian super sub wandering about in our waters. _Someone_ would have detected them by now, or they would have at least gone after a decent military target and given themselves away."

"Would _you_ give yourself away, if the circumstances were reversed?" he asked. _Stupid question. Of course he would._

"I'd do something _useful,_ rather than just sneaking around."

"And get yourself blown out of the water. Again." He shouldn't have gone there, but Hudson was deliberately pushing his buttons, and Jonathan had too many other things on his mind to care about Oliver Hudson's delicate sensibilities.

Hudson bristled, but his voice was cold. "Because you'd know nothing at all about losing a boat."

"At least I wasn't needlessly risking people's lives. You got people _killed_ , Oliver, and for what?  Your pride?"

"People die in war, in case you haven't noticed, _Jonathan,_ " the other captain snarled. "If you can't live with that, you should have stayed at home with your mother—or better yet, gone and found some unarmed research vessel to command. I'm sure your talents wouldn't go to waste there."

"Damn it, Oliver, there's a difference between people dying and letting them get killed!" He barely managed to keep his voice below a shout, standing outside the commodore's office not exactly an appropriate place to be having it out with a fellow captain. "You just want to play hero—"

"You have no idea what I want or don't want," Hudson cut him off, stepping closer to Ford. His voice was dangerously quiet, now, and Jonathan thought for a moment that Hudson might hit him—if he didn’t hit him first.  But Oliver continued roughly: "My people died doing their _jobs_ , and they died bravely. I'd go back and save them all if I could, but I wouldn't sacrifice civilian lives to do it, because our job is to stand between innocents and the enemy. Don't you dare imply that I care nothing about them. I'd trade places with any one of them in a heartbeat."

Jonathan didn't back down, even though he knew he should, judging from the amount of raw emotion filling the other man’s voice. "And you got damn lucky that the civilians at Sierra Colony all made it out safely while you were busy sitting at the bottom of the ocean."

"Yes, I am lucky. And I'll never forget that." The other captain's expression closed off suddenly. "But at least I didn't stand aside and watch them die. I don't think I could have lived with myself if I did that."

That seemed like a low blow in an already dirty fight. Jonathan clenched his fists tightly at his sides, snarling before he could stop himself: "There wasn't anything I could do to save those people. Attacking the Macronesians would have only gotten my crew killed too." He shouldn't have to defend himself against Hudson for the choices he made, but he'd learned long ago that life wasn't fair. "I made the only choice I could."

Hudson shook his head, suddenly looking tired. "I didn't mean that you didn't. Believe it or not...I do think you made the right choice. You were too far away to accomplish anything. I wasn't. We each did what we had to."

Somehow, he had never expected the other captain to sound so _sad._

Jonathan blew out a long sigh. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day. Look, even if you don't believe the Macronesians have the stealth capability I think they do, just... stay alert. The UEO can't afford to lose any more boats."

“Well, at least we agree on that,” the other captain replied dryly. 

He managed a wry smile. "It sucks, doesn't it? Sitting around and waiting until they give you another boat?"

“Sucks isn’t exactly the word I’d come up with.  A new kind of Hell, maybe.  Or at least purgatory.”

"At least you know they won't keep you out of the water forever," Jonathan said. " _That_ would be Hell."

“That it would,” Hudson agreed.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to.”

Jonathan nodded, doubting that there was actually any meeting to get to, but appreciating Hudson’s desire to end the conversation before they came to blows. "Of course."

Hudson stepped away, thankfully heading _away_ from Commodore Allan’s office—if the Commodore had not heard the argument, Jonathan had no urge to have him learn about it through Hudson’s telling of the tale.  He turned away, too, struggling to get hold of his temper, and almost jumped out of his skin when a familiar voice spoke from behind him.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

He turned around. "Katie, you scared the Hell out of me."

She looked the same as always, even though he hadn’t seen her in years—not since the summer during which they were building the second _seaQuest_ and she was in command of _HR Clinton_.  In fact, if he wished hard enough, he could imagine the two of them back on _seaQuest_ again, as if nothing had changed.  Katie’s smile was slightly naughty. "I'm so sorry. Sir. I'd never mean to do that."

"No, of course you wouldn't," he said dryly. "And if it wasn't the middle of the work day, I would say yes to that drink."

“How about lunch, then?” she countered.  “You look like you could use a little break.”

"Tell me something first, Katie—like how haven't you led a mutiny against your captain yet?" Jonathan asked.

“He’s not that bad all the time,” his old friend answered with a shrug.  “But if you want more details, you’ll have to buy me lunch.  You’re the one making Captain’s pay, after all.  I hear they’re giving out nice bonuses these days.”

She took him by the arm.

"C'mon. I know a great place down by the water. It's a hole in the wall, but the food's good."

“Lead on, Commander,” Jonathan replied, finding himself grinning.  He _missed_ everyone from the _seaQuest_ , and Katie’s dry sense of humor had put him right at ease.  Suddenly, he realized that Katie was right; he really _did_ need a break.  The pressure of being a captain, with no one to confide in, was one thing, but having Hudson seem to second-guess his decision had made him want to punch something.  Jonathan had not realized how close he’d been to the edge, but it was nice to be able to pull himself back.

 _Things are only going to get worse, Jonathan,_ he told himself.  _You’d best get used to the pressure.  Your next patrol is going to be another independent one, and there’s no one to lean on out there.  Just you._

* * *

Ben felt old. He shouldn’t be the one having to do this, acting the part of the responsible adult. The idea in itself was laughable, but Tim had already tried—and failed. If Ben couldn’t manage, they wouldn’t have a choice except to go to the captain, and neither of them really wanted to do that.

Or they’d have to go to the new XO, who _still_ hadn't been identified even though the XO was due to report by the end of the month, and although Ben would have trusted Ford with such a delicate task, he wasn't going to hand Lucas to a stranger. Not when the kid just didn't get it.

Ben knew Lucas wasn’t acting out in a malicious manner. He got his work done, within or ahead of schedule. And he was unfailingly polite to most of the workers and crewmembers. But he had managed to miss five out of the six department head meetings since he’d reported, even after Tim had spoken to him about it. Ben had spoken to him once before as a friend, but after he had failed to show up again that morning, he and Tim had both agreed that maybe they needed to try something different.

How Ben had ended up being the one stuck with this job was still beyond him, but probably had to do with the fact that Tim had ordered him. Neither of them were very believable at ‘hard ass’. Especially where Lucas was concerned.

So now here he was, hovering outside the small cubicle assigned to the computer expert, mustering up every authoritative bone in his body. He knocked on the metal frame to get Lucas’ attention.

“Yeah, just a minute,” Lucas replied, not looking up from his screen as he typed something furiously on his keyboard. Ben had never managed to master touch typing, even growing up in a world inundated by technology, so watching Lucas work always left him feeling a little awed. He had to force himself to remember why he was there, though.

“We need to talk, Mr. Wolenczak,” Ben said. Being formal was good, he figured. Remind the kid they weren’t just pals, but coworkers too, and that Ben was the superior officer. The use of his last name certainly did the trick; Lucas’ head snapped up to look at Ben in confusion.

“Can it wait, Ben? I’m in the middle of trying to debug this code,” Lucas replied. Ben resisted the urge to leave Lucas to his work. This casual attitude was part of the problem, after all.

“No it can’t, Lieutenant.” Ben’s use of Lucas’ rank made the kid’s forehead crease, but at least it was keeping his attention. He pushed away from his desk, turning to face Ben full on.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Lucas asked.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Ben said. He really didn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of the office, where anyone could walk by and hear it. _Praise in public, discipline in private_. That was something he’d had drilled into his head at the Academy, and Lucas was young enough that his ego would be sensitive to such things.

 _Reminds me of myself…_

Except Ben knew he’d never been as bad as Lucas, at least not in regards to military discipline. Sure, he wasn’t the poster boy for discipline, but he _liked_ the structure the Navy offered him. He always knew where his place was, in the grand scheme of things. Lucas’ problem was that he’d never properly fit into the structure, and no one had ever tried to force him.

He closed the door to the conference room behind them. “Sit down, Lucas,” he ordered, taking a seat of his own across the table. “We need to talk. And I don’t mean Ben and Lucas, I mean Commander Krieg and Lieutenant Wolenczak. Do I make myself clear?”

Lucas leaned back in his chair, half grinning. “Good one, Ben. What do you want? I really was busy, you know. Are you just trying to get Tim to yell at me for a change instead of you?”

“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you, kid?” Ben asked with a sigh as Lucas gave him a slightly irritated look.

 _What would Katie do?_ He had to think about that one long and hard before he finally came up with a serious answer.

“Look, Lucas, you and me, we’re pals. But you made the decision to join the Navy, and that makes us fellow officers, too. And right now, I’m talking to you as your superior, not your friend. I know it’s not something you’re used to, and that’s why Commander O’Neill and I have been trying not to give you a hard time about this. Trust me, I’d rather not be sitting here giving you this lecture. But I also don’t want to see you getting into trouble.

“When we’re out of uniform, it’s fine to act like nothing’s changed since we all served together last time. But when you show up for work in the morning and you’re wearing that uniform, things are different. If I ask for your attention, it’s not _What’s up, Ben_? It’s _Yes, sir?_ I know this is going to be hard. I remember how hard it was when Katie got promoted and suddenly I had to salute her,” Ben said, trying to lighten the mood. Lucas didn’t look amused.

“Have you got a point, _sir_?” Lucas asked, tone laced with all the sarcasm Ben remembered him reserving only for those people who irritated him the most and that he respected the least.

“You’re headed for trouble, Lucas. You _chose_ to join the Navy. No one forced you to do it. Hell, most of us would have tried to stop you, had we known. But you’re here, and you have responsibilities now. You can’t keep blowing off your meetings with Commander O’Neill and the other department heads.  I know, I know,” Ben added, before Lucas could get a protest in. “You’re not doing it intentionally. But you have to make more of an effort to take your responsibilities seriously. And to treat the commander and me with the respect due to our rank.”

He hated having to try and lay down the line with Lucas. He felt like a jerk, and he could tell Lucas thought he was one, too. _Tough love, I know. But why does it have to be so tough? This is why I could never cut it as a parent._

Lucas was slouched in his chair, looking for all the world like he was a surly seventeen year old again instead of almost twenty-two. Ben made a brief mental note to bring him out for drinks before turning back to the situation at hand.

“I’m a horrible role model, and I probably shouldn’t be the one to be giving you this lecture. But better me than whoever our new XO is. And you and I both know it won’t be pretty if the captain finds out.” Ben didn’t like dangling that threat over Lucas’ head, but nothing else seemed to be working.

Lucas shot out of his chair onto his feet, startling Ben with his anger. “What is this, the second grade? Are you going to _tell_ on me, _Commander_? Fine, whatever. I’m out of here. I’ve got work to do.” Lucas left the conference room, not even waiting for a dismissal.

Ben sat in his chair, shocked at how things had ended. “Well _that_ went well,” he said to the empty room. “Note to self: next time Tim asks you to counsel someone, tell him no.”

* * *

7 November 2023

“How are you settling in, Miguel?”

“ _Ow!_ ”  Hearing Captain Bridger’s voice coming from behind Miguel made him jump; as a consequence, he hit his head on the bottom of the sonar console he had been underneath.  “Ow.  I mean, fine, sir.”

“Don’t kill yourself down there,” was the captain’s chuckling response.  “I’m pretty sure that none of the sensor systems on this boat will work any better with your blood mixed in.”

Miguel crawled out from under the console, rubbing his head.  “I think I just found that out, sir.”

“Welcome back.”  Bridger held a hand out to him.  “I’m sorry that I didn’t get a chance to say that earlier—it’s been a busy week.  I take it Tim got you settled in and everything?”

“Yes, sir.” He had to struggle not to grin, but Miguel seemed to be doing that every five minutes since he’d come aboard the new _seaQuest._   “It’s great to be back.  I didn’t even know you were building another _seaQuest_ until I reported for ‘Project Anzio’, though.  Why all the secrecy?  If you don’t mind me asking.”

Years in the Navy had taught Miguel that one really shouldn’t question their commanding officer so much, but Bridger had always been different.  Miguel had served under some real screamers (Marilyn Stark came to mind, when she was in a bad mood), but he’d also served under some of the best…and Bridger had never minded questions, particularly if you were smart about when you asked them.

 Bridger smiled.  “That’s because she’s still a secret, Warrant.  Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.  It’s well deserved.”

“Thank you, sir.”  Coming from Bridger, the compliment meant a lot to him.  But Miguel was also still curious.  “But…I understand keeping her a secret from the public, after what happened last time.  Still, why keep _seaQuest_ a secret from the Navy?  I don’t think Captain Ford even knows.”

“He doesn’t,” the captain replied, shaking his head.  “Because, frankly, he doesn’t need to right now.  This close to war with Macronesia, we need all the advantages we can get, and if we can get _seaQuest_ in the water without them knowing about it, that’ll be one heck of a surprise.”

“Yeah, I guess it will.”

Part of Miguel wanted to argue that keeping people like Ford out of the loop wasn’t fair, but he also knew that war wasn’t _supposed_ to be fair.  Miguel had been in the Navy long enough to know that, and although he wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of fighting another major war, he liked the idea of losing one even less.  So, he didn’t complain.  Instead, he said:

“Thank you for asking for me back, Captain.  _seaQuest_ …well, she’s even more amazing than the last one.” Miguel couldn’t help laughing, just a bit, in sheer joy.  “And you’ve given me even better toys than last time.”

His comment made Bridger chuckle.  “I’m glad you approve, Miguel.  I trust you’ll be putting them to good use, too.”

 _Does he have to even ask?_ “You bet I will, sir.”

“I’ve got something rather specific in mind, actually,” was the calm reply, but Miguel’s attention perked up.He knew that look, and it meant that the captain had something interesting in mind.   “I read an interesting report from _Atlantis._   It seems you picked up some sort of stealth submarine?”




“Yes, sir.” But he had to take a deep breath.  “Captain Ford forwarded it over to the squadron, and they didn’t like it very much.  They pretty much told us that we were making it up, and no Macronesian sub could be that quiet.”

“As much as I’d like to believe that, I’ve got a bit too much confidence in you and Jonathan Ford to buy that one.  I may not _like_ the idea of a Macronesian stealth sub wandering about in UEO waters, but I like knowing nothing about it even less.  Why don’t you come show me everything you know?”

He should have known Bridger would believe him, and Miguel kicked himself for not bringing it up as soon as he arrived.  “I brought a copy of _Atlantis_ ’ sonar tapes with me, if you want to see them.”

“I’d love to,” the captain said with a smile.  “But better yet, now that Lucas has her computers up and running, let’s put that data into the sonar suite and see what _seaQuest_ can make of it. From what I understand, you didn’t track her long, but it might be that _seaQuest’_ s computers can piece together enough of a signature that we can identify the sub if we ever run into her.”

It was a good idea; _Atlantis_ ’ computers hadn’t been able to do that, but _seaQuest_ ’s sonar suite was built to handle a much bigger workload, and currently wasn't being used for anything else while in drydock, so there was a chance that they could discover something that _Atlantis’_ systems had missed.  Miguel felt like kicking himself for not having thought of it before, but at least he had only been on board three days—and this was only his second workday, so he supposed that he should cut himself some slack.

“Where do you want to start, Captain?” he asked, and he and Bridger got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... we lied about the aliens. Whoops. But this is the only chapter you'll see them, don't worry!
> 
> Right now, we’ve got enough written to continue posting twice a week. So, stay tuned for Chapter 6, “Screw-ups”, in which Katie gets a dysfunctional Thanksgiving present, Lucas gets smacked upside the head (metaphorically), and Miguel finds out he’s going on a field trip.


	6. Screw-Ups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the first update for this week; look for the next one on Friday: Chapter 7 “Deceptions and Planning,” in which Miguel refuses to think of people in their underwear, and Katie fights with Marines and Yeomen both. Oh, and one of Robin's real-life (former) chiefs makes a cameo appearance, just for fun.

 22 November 2023

There was nothing quite like sitting and doing nothing in the SUBRON offices while Oliver Hudson went on to take command of the best boat in the fleet.  In fact—Katie checked her watch—her _old_ CO should be reading his orders right about now, officially relieving Captain Clayton of command.  And here she was, sitting in a bare cubicle with nothing but a computer to entertain her.

Hudson _had_ claimed that he’d asked for her again as his XO, but he said that there were orders in the pipeline for her, ones that he’d been told could not be countermanded, no matter how many people he yelled at.  Of course, that conversation had taken place not long after he’d taken her to task for _siding_ with Captain Ford about the stealth submarine Jonathan and Miguel had run into, so Katie was a bit unsure  how sincere Hudson was being.  All _she_ had said was that the matter really could stand to be investigated, but Hudson had a habit of taking comments like that personally.

 _Nothing new in that._ She hadn’t lied to Jonathan two weeks ago, not really.  Hudson _wasn’t_ that bad of a CO to work for…most of the time.  The hardest part of being his XO was knowing how to avoid hot topics when his temper was up, which usually wasn’t all that difficult.  Under normal circumstances, he was even a good listener, and was decent at taking outside input.  His real flaw, however, at as far as Katie was concerned, was his refusal to listen to _anyone_ else during a tactical situation.  Once he got a plan in his head, his boat was going to execute that plan…no matter what it cost.

Thankfully, he was a great tactician.  Hudson really was _good_ , and up until they’d lost _Torsk,_ Katie had been willing to let everything else slide because of that.  She’d learned a lot from him, after all, and if he was rough around the edges, his gruff determination almost contained a little bit of charm.

And then he’d lost _Torsk_ because he was too ‘determined’ to cut his losses and run after he’d done significant damage to the enemy.  No, he’d had to keep going at them, even after his initial ambush had sank two of their boats and damaged another.  _Torsk_ had done very little damage after that, and half of their crew had wound up feeding fish on the bottom of the Pacific because Hudson didn’t know when to quit.

Maybe he’d learned something from it.  Katie didn’t know.  She just knew that she would never forgive him for it.

Her inbox chirped, indicating that a new message had arrived.  Sighing, she clicked on the header without really looking at it; it was from the Bureau of Personnel, which meant it was probably another request for information on one of her old _Torsk_ crew members; the sinking had left gaps in about half of the survivors’ evaluations and service records, and she’d spent the last two months straightening those messes out.

OFFICIAL CHANGE DUTY ORDERS FOR  
CDR KATHERINE A HITCHCOCK

WHEN DIRECTED BY REPORTING SENIOR, DETACH IN NOV 23 EDA: NOV 23  
FROM UEO SUBRON 3  
HOMEPORT HI, PEARL HARBOR

REPORT NOT LATER THAN 27 NOV 23  
TO UEO STINGRAY SS 262  
\- REPORT AS EXECUTIVE OFFICER

A knock came on her cubicle wall before she could fully digest the orders.  Turning her head, she spotted Lonnie Henderson standing there, looking confused.

“I’m sorry for bothering you, ma’am…but I just got the strangest set of orders,” the young ensign said.

Katie blinked.  “Strange?” she asked, glancing back at her own screen.  What was it about the Bureau sending her orders right before the holidays?  She’d gotten orders to _seaQuest_ on her birthday, though that had been a lot better occasion than this one.  _Happy Thanksgiving, Katie!_

“Yeah, to some boat called _Stingray_ , but I’ve never heard of her, ma’am.”

“Neither have I,” Katie replied automatically, her stomach sinking.  _This has Hudson written all over it.  Why else would the XO that pissed him off and the ensign whose bubbly personality he hates wind up with orders to a boat that doesn’t exist?_

“I tried looking her up in the Naval Registry,” Lonnie added after a moment.  “There was a _Stingray_ , but it was an old diesel sub decommissioned in the 1980s.  There hasn’t been one since.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Lonnie, I’ve got orders to her, too.” Katie forced herself to smile, but she could not manage to make her voice as light as she wanted to.  “Whatever she is.”

“You have?”

“Oh, I have.”  _Behave yourself, Katie.  You never know what this might be._

Whatever it was, she was detailed to be the XO of _something_ , so Katie would have to make the best of the situation.  And, of course, she’d have to look out for Lonnie while she was at it; the young ensign was one of the most gifted engineers Katie had ever met, and she had the potential to be a good officer. 

Assuming she got the chance.

“I’ll see what I can’t find out about her,” Katie promised Lonnie, pushing such maudlin thoughts away.  “I’ve got a few friends who might know something.”

The ensign looked almost comically relieved.  “Thanks, XO.”

“Any time.”  Her nod and smile seemed to reassure Lonnie, and the young woman moved back to her own cubicle looking a little less bewildered.  Once she was gone, Katie pulled up her contacts list and started dialing.

Jonathan wasn’t due to get underway again for another week or two, and she had his private line.  Hopefully, he’d know something—he was still the UEO’s golden boy, after all, having stepped off of _seaQuest_ and straight into command.  Admirals loved his dedication, Katie knew, and tended to tell him more than they should.

“Ford here,” the familiar voice answered, even though she couldn’t see anything more than his left arm.  He was clearly in the middle of some routine paperwork, and hadn’t bothered to move the screen so that the caller could see his face.

“Hey, Jonathan,” she said, actual humor creeping into her voice.  Some people would never change.

His face swung into view immediately.  “Katie! Hey.  What’s up?  You want to catch lunch again tomorrow? I don’t have any Thanksgiving plans if you don’t, though I’m going to spend the rest of today getting in a fight with the port engineer.”

“Sure.”  She laughed despite herself, and then took a deep breath.  “But I wasn’t really calling for social reasons, though.  I was wondering if I could ask for a favor.”

“Anytime.”

“Have you ever heard of a boat named _Stingray_?” she asked.

“Um…not a current one.” Jonathan thought for a moment.  “There’s one in an old sub movie that’s really funny, though.  I forget the name.  Is this something Hudson has you hunting down? I thought a change of command ceremony would keep even him busy.”

His easy assumption that she’d continued on with Hudson made Katie swallow.  “I’m not on _Scorpion,_ Jonathan,” she said, trying to keep her voice casual.  “I’ve got orders to this _Stingray._ As XO.”

“I don’t think we have a sub named _Stingray_ , Katie.”  She really wished that he wouldn’t look so worried.  Seeing that just made her more concerned.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” she sighed.

“Sorry.  It might be some special projects boat, though.  I’ll see if I can’t uncover anything for you, if you want.”

That bad feeling in the bit of her stomach was just getting worse.  “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied with a smile.  “I like keeping track of my old shipmates—especially since Miguel just got stolen for some mysterious ‘Project Anzio’.  And Tim dropped off the face of the earth about six months back, too, so I’m running out of people to look after.”

“Only you would think having your own boat doesn’t keep you busy enough,” Katie teased him, finding her smile again.

“What can I say? I like to multitask.” Jonathan shot back with a shrug.  “So, are we still on for lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

Even if he didn’t have the answers she was looking for, it would be nice to spend the holiday with a friend.  And more than ever, she’d learned lately not to take the simple things for granted.  They were fighting on the front line of a war, after all.  The fact that they were both still alive was certainly reason enough to be thankful.

* * *

Bridger was hardly the type to air dirty laundry in public; while he _had_ noticed that Lucas was missing when the department head meeting started, he pushed off asking any further questions until afterwards.  Oddly enough, it was _Ben_ who answered when he asked at the beginning of the meeting, admitting that he’d tried to find Lucas with no success, but at least that meant Nathan wasn’t confused when Ben stuck around after he had dismissed the rest of the senior officers.

“Well?” he asked, his eyes moving between Tim and Ben.  In some ways, it was unfortunate that he’d had to tag Tim O’Neill with the job of acting Executive Officer, because Tim wasn’t exactly the most assertive officer Nathan had ever met.  He was, however, an administrative monster, which meant everything was running as smoothly as he could have hoped.  “Where is he?”

Everything except Lucas, that was.  And it seemed like this problem had been going on for awhile, judging from the looks these two were exchanging.

“Spit it out, gentlemen,” Bridger ordered when neither answered. 

Apparently Ben pulled the short straw, because he was the one who responded.  "That's just the thing, Captain.  I couldn't find him before the meeting.  He's around somewhere, but...."

"But?" Nathan prompted, knowing he was sounding annoyed and not really regretting it—every now and then, _someone_ had to play the Big Bad Captain.  He’d accepted that facet of his chosen career a long time ago.

Ben looked like he was about to try and pull one over on the captain, but Tim stepped in.  "He hasn't been coming to the meetings, sir." His tone was regretful but resigned.

"Is there a reason why not?" Now he really felt like he was pulling teeth; Nathan still felt that he had the best department heads in the UEO fleet, but there were times that their close friendships could really get in the way.  It was rather obvious that Ben and Tim were trying to keep Lucas out of trouble.  _Again._   "I assume he _knows_ about the meetings.  Correct?"

"Yes, sir.  And Commander Krieg and I have both spoken to him about needing to attend.  In his defense, he's almost always doing work when we do hunt him down after," Tim replied.

"I don't think Lucas needs defending at the moment, Tim." Nathan checked the urge to sigh.  He loved the boy to distraction, but he'd never been in the business of making up excuses for anyone.

He gave his acting XO a hard look, waiting for more information.

 Tim shifted uncomfortably under the look, darting another glance towards Ben.  It was interesting that these two were working together on something like this with all of the other fighting they had been doing, but wholly unproductive at the moment.  Tim gave in after a moment, just as Bridger knew he would.  "He hasn't been adapting very well to the military aspects of things," Tim admitted.

"Tell me something I couldn't guess," he replied dryly, then went straight to the point.  "How many meetings has he missed?"

"All except two," Tim replied.

"And you were going to tell me about this when?"

Another look passed between the two officers.  "He _has_ been getting his work done, Captain.  And no one else has offered any complaints.  I think he just forgets sometimes, with the old crew," Tim explained.

“Stop making excuses for him.” Nathan knew his voice had grown hard, so he did his best to bring it back to a level tone.  “Tim, I know that I’ve given you a raw deal with this making you the acting XO.  I’m not blaming you.  Lucas is a genuine genius, and he’s not a child.  You should only have to tell him once, and when counseling him on it doesn’t work, that’s when you tell me.  Not two weeks later.”

"Yes, sir," Tim replied.

Nathan shot Ben a glance.  "Same goes to you, Ben.  I _can_ help you, but I do need to know it's necessary."

"I guess we just thought it wouldn't be necessary, Captain." Only Ben Krieg would try to argue at a moment like this.

"Yeah, I gathered that," he replied dryly, and then looked back at Tim.  "Pass the word that Lieutenant Wolenczak's presence is requested in the Captain's Cabin, will you?"

“I'll find him myself, if necessary, sir," Tim said.

"Just pass it on the 1MC.  They installed it yesterday, so it should be working."

At least he could be fairly confident that Lucas was on the boat; as _seaQuest_ crept closer to completion, the crew worked more and more on board and did less in their shore-side offices.  They still weren't sleeping on board, but at least the boat was no longer such an industrial environment that you had to wear protective gear like a hard hat and ear plugs just to walk around.  And the boat's general announcing system, or 1MC, _was_ working...or had been that morning, anyway, and probably still was unless someone had decided to rewire it again.

“Yes, sir.”  Tim stepped over to the phone on the wardroom table and dialed in the appropriate access code to speak on the 1MC, passing the word himself.  “Lieutenant J.G.  Wolenczak, your presence is requested in the Captain’s Cabin.”

“Thank you, Tim,” Nathan said quietly, rising from his seat at the head of the wardroom table.  Noticing his Ops officer’s worried expression, he smiled.  “Don’t worry.  I won’t beat him up too badly.”

"Of course not, sir," Tim replied, though his worried expression didn't ease.

Nathan waved them out and then headed through the hatch himself, pausing to check on a few workmen along the way.  Like it or not, he spent half of his time acting as the Project Manager for his still-unfinished boat, which meant the time he had to dedicate to his still-unfinished _crew_ was more limited than any captain would want it to be.  Normally, he’d have an actual XO to take on some of the workload, but Tim had his own department to train up, which meant that he couldn’t take on the XO’s full time duties, either.  Obviously, some things were suffering for the lack of attention.

One conversation with a welder took a bit longer than Nathan wanted it to—they'd received a shipment of less-than-stellar materials, though, and he was glad that the man took the time to tell him.  Besides, it would probably do Lucas a bit of good to wait; much though Nathan despised senior officers who made their juniors wait on them for hours, a bit of military unpleasantly might teach Lucas a lesson or two.  _I know he’s working hard,_ he thought to himself.  _I only wish that was the problem._ Nathan had expected Lucas to have a problem or two with military discipline, but this was a bit much, and he was still ticked off that Tim had let it continue for so long.

However, he was back in his cabin within fifteen minutes...and there was no sign of Lucas.

Five minutes later, his temper was really starting to warm up.  Nathan wasn’t exactly the strictest disciplinarian in the Navy, but even he had his limits—and if he had to pass the word for Lucas _again_ , he was going to be more than a bit peeved.  In fact, he was reaching for the phone on his desk to call the Quarterdeck watch when Lucas breezed through the open hatch, focused on a stack of papers in his hand. 

"I'm almost done with fixing the program for the sonar package.  Some idiot ordered the wrong processor and it's messing up all my code."

Nathan felt his eyebrows mate with his hairline.  "Excuse me?"

Lucas looked up.  "Isn't that what you wanted me for, sir? Miguel's data should be analyzed by tomorrow, at the latest."

"No.  It isn't." _Don't be too nasty, Nathan,_ he chided himself.  _The kid really doesn't get it, even though he should._ "You missed today's department head meeting, Mr. Wolenczak."

The use of his last name seemed to catch his attention.  "Yeah, I was in the middle of wrestling with a code gremlin, Captain.  I didn't want to lose track of where I was."

"You didn't want to lose track of where you were," Nathan echoed, hoping that repeating the words might clue Lucas in to where he'd gone wrong.

"Look, Captain, I'm sorry I didn't figure it out sooner.  I know how much you wanted that data analyzed," Lucas replied.  Clearly, hints weren't going to work.

Nathan bit back a frustrated sigh, sitting back in his chair and looking his EWO straight in the eye.  "This isn't about the code, Lucas.  It's about your conduct."

Lucas’ expression closed off.  "Ben snitched on me, didn't he? I can't believe him, I thought we were friends."

"Ben didn't 'snitch on you', as you so inelegantly put it," Nathan replied a bit more sharply than he intended.  "I was at the meeting you missed, since it happened to be a meeting with me.  We do hold those meeting for a reason, you know.  And not just when it's convenient for you."

"Sorry for thinking you wanted me to do my _job_ , sir," Lucas snapped in response.  "Seeing as I pretty much had to start from scratch on some of these systems."

It took all the self control Nathan had not to reach out and shake the kid.  "I want you to do _all_ of your job, _Lieutenant_ , not just the parts you like.  And that means attending meetings.  That means being _on time_.  That means using your chain of command.  You've joined the Navy, not a fraternity, and we expect our officers to meet certain standards."

He knew his tone was biting, but Nathan didn't care.  When he continued, however, there was a little less coldness in his voice, and a lot more passion.

"The worst part is that I _know_ you can meet those standards.  I know you can _exceed_ them, if you put your mind to it.  And I know this isn't easy for you, because this isn't the _seaQuest_ you served on last time.  It can't be.  And that means I can't accept the absent-minded genius routine.  I need you to be a Naval Officer, Lucas.  Not the sixteen year old geek who can get away with murder.

"And you're not doing that.  Not right now."

Lucas' expression remained closed off, but he seemed to have been paying attention, even if his response was cold and short.  "Yes, sir."

He'd smacked Lucas with the stick hard enough; now it was time for the carrot.

"I'm not expecting you to be the perfect naval officer, Lucas," Nathan said more gently.  "Hell, _I'm_ not the perfect naval officer, and I've gotten in trouble for a lot stupider things than you are right now.  But I am asking you to try, kiddo.  Because I know you can do better than you are.

"If we weren't likely to go to war very shortly, it would be different.  I'd probably just smack you upside the head, tell you 'don't miss another meeting', and be done with it.  But we are going to war, and that changes everything.  We've got a lot of new sailors on this boat, a bunch of which are in your department.  They're going to look to you for leadership, and they'll notice every little thing you do wrong.

"So, what I'm asking you do to is minimize those screw ups." He smiled wryly.  "And also to remember that I do try not to waste my officers' time—when I call a meeting, its usually for a pretty good reason."

"Yes, sir," Lucas replied again.  He was obviously still angry, but at least he wasn't lashing out with his anger.

Nathan really wished that the kid would say something else, but he knew Lucas well enough to know that if he pushed harder, the EWO would only clam up further.  "Do you have any questions?"

"No, sir."

"That's all, then." Nathan felt positively ancient as Lucas turned to go—he hadn't felt this guilty about laying down the law since Robert had been eighteen and Nathan had caught him drinking.  He spoke up as the young officer started to step through the hatch.  "Oh, and Lucas?"

Lucas paused, only half turning back.  "Yes, sir?"

"Your performance as EWO has been great.  It's the little details I'm worried about—you've got the big stuff down."

Lucas' expression was unreadable.  A few years ago, the kid would have been grinning like a Cheshire Cat.  "Thank you, sir."

Nathan watched him go, still feeling old.  He hated having conversations like that with any of his officers, but he'd hated this one more than most.  Somehow, reminding himself that it was necessary didn't make the feeling go away—but he had a sneaking suspicion that he'd have to do a lot of things he didn't like in the years to come.  _Might as well get used to the feeling, Nathan._

Finally letting out the frustrated sigh he’d been holding back, he turned to the vidlink and decided to seek out a more friendly conversation.

* * *

“Ford here.”

If the world should suddenly end, Nathan expected that the officer he was calling would still answer the vidlink the same way.  The thought brought a smile to his face, especially when he noticed that his old XO wasn’t looking at the pickup.  _As usual._ “Good morning, Jonathan.”

As expected, Ford almost jumped out of his skin.  “Captain Bridger! I didn’t expect a call from you, sir.  It’s been months.”

Was that an accusatory edge in his old XO’s voice? If so, Nathan could not blame him; it _had_ been months since they’d talked.  In fact, the last time Nathan had called was after Jonathan lost _SeaWolf_ , and the subtle reminder made him feel a little guilty.  Kristin often accused him of losing himself in his work, but he’d really done it this time.

“Yeah, I suppose it has,” he replied, keeping his absent-minded professor expression on.  “I hear you’ve been busy.”

“Busy’s one word for it,” Jonathan said dryly.  Then he smiled, though, and Nathan knew he didn’t actually hold a grudge.  “But it’s a good busy, at least, sir.  What have you been up to? The last I heard, you were involved in the design of the _Kraken-_ class sub.”

“A bit, yeah,” Nathan admitted.  “Lately, I’ve been doing some weapons design, though.  I hear you made some good use of the Mark V Interceptors lately, too.”

“You bet we did.”  His old XO’s face lit up.  “Did you design those, captain? They’re worlds better than the old ones—my weapons officer said that he’d marry one if they could cook.”

The mental image of a typical Navy “Weps” trying to marry an intercept torpedo made Nathan snicker.   “I did, but I’m not sure I’ll admit it, now.”

“Unless you teach them to cook, I think you’re safe,” Jonathan replied with a grin.

“That’s good to know!”

They shared a grin, and _damn,_ he missed Jonathan.  A new _seaQuest_ wouldn’t be the same without Jonathan as XO, but Nathan had done the right thing in cutting him lose.  If Jonathan had stayed with the program, he would have torpedoed his own career—Nathan had been able to stay on the design side because he had a background in it, but if Jonathan had tried to stick around, particularly back when the UEO was determined not to build another _seaQuest_ , he would never have gotten a command.

“So, what did you call for, anyway? I can’t imagine it was just to chat,” his protégé asked.  “Not that I’m objecting if it is, of course.”

Jonathan always had been bright.  There was probably no way to keep him from guessing at information he really didn’t need to know, but Nathan would proceed carefully, anyway.  “Unfortunately, no.  I saw your report on the Macronesian stealth sub.”

“Did it even make it past Commodore Allan?” was the immediate, bitter, response.

“Not very far,” he replied with a snort.  “But they always forward things like that to the technical community, even the so-called experts claim the mere existence of such a sub is impossible.”

“You don’t agree.”

“Not in the slightest.”  Oh, he had Jonathan’s attention now.  “Allan’s always been a bit of a conventional thinker, and he doesn’t know about the new types of stealth technology _we’ve_ been experimenting with.  Frankly, the information you brought back on this boat sounds eerily familiar to me.”

“That doesn’t sound good at all,” his old XO said warily.

“It isn’t,” Nathan replied briskly.  “I listened to the tapes Miguel recorded of her signature, and some of her sound characteristics remind me an awful lot of a system we were working with about four years ago.  There’s nothing specific we can pinpoint yet, but it’s definitely safe to say that you weren’t chasing biologics.”

Unfortunately, giving Jonathan a compliment had never worked at distracting him from important information.  The other captain’s eyes narrowed.

“If you’re working with Miguel, I’m guessing that you’re involved in Project Anzio,” he said shrewdly.

Nathan looked him in the eye.  “You know I can’t comment on that.”

“Roger that, Captain.” Jonathan took the implied rebuke like a man, as much as Nathan hated giving it.  “Unfortunately, if you’re looking for more information, we haven’t uncovered anything new since Miguel left.”

“I didn’t think you had,” Nathan replied wryly.  _Much though I might wish otherwise._ “But I know that you’re getting underway again on the sixth.  If you happen to encounter this mystery boat again, I’d appreciate it if you could send me whatever data you get.”

“Our underway date is classified.”  Jonathan eyed him a bit peevishly.  Nathan had known him long enough to know that this was Jonathan’s revenge for his own refusal to give him information, but he didn’t take it personally.

He just grinned cheekily.   “So’s this conversation.”

“I’ll send you anything I get,” the younger man relented, smiling again.   

“Thanks, Jonathan,” he said feelingly, and moved to cut the connection.

“Captain—a quick question.”

“Shoot.”

“Have you ever heard of a sub named _Stingray?_ ” Jonathan asked.  “Katie called me about an hour ago.  She got some really strange orders to a boat that doesn’t exist.”

 _Tread carefully, Nathan_.  He did not dare hesitate before answering:

“Are you talking about the boat from _Down Periscope_?” he asked innocently. 

“I’ve seen the movie.  It’s amusing, but I’m willing to bet that Katie’s not going to Hollywood,” was the droll reply.

Nathan chuckled.  “Especially since it’s underwater?”

Joking about the Great Quake felt wrong, but Nathan had a feeling that he’d joke about worse things before the war was over.  He’d done it before. 

“Touché,” Jonathan replied before asking pointedly: “Do you _know_ anything, Captain?”

 _He had to ask me directly, didn’t he?_   Nathan suppressed the urge to sigh in frustration.  He didn’t _want_ to lie to Jonathan, but there weren’t exactly a lot of other options.  “If I did, I couldn’t tell you.”  

“Captain…”

“That’s all, Jonathan.”  _And stop asking!_ he didn’t shout, no matter how much he wanted to.

Thankfully, his old friend relented, and after a few minutes more of personal conversation, they hung up.

 Nathan sat back in his chair, sighing.  He really wished that he could say more, but even he could appreciate the security situation his project was working under.  They’d had two separate attempted security breaches in the last three weeks, one of which had almost actually gotten past the different layers of deceptive information available in the Pearl Harbor mainframe.  If it had been up to him, he would tell Jonathan everything about the new _seaQuest_ …but it wasn’t, and if he was going to see this boat to completion, it wasn’t going to be by breaking security rules.

* * *

24 November 2023

The gnawing horror in Katie’s stomach was only growing as she cooled her heels until her report date.  She should have been enjoying a long holiday weekend, but even a long run around base hadn’t been enough to banish her anxiety.  She had decided instead to be productive and see what she could find about her new crew, returning to the ghost town that the SUBRON 3 offices resembled on the Friday after Thanksgiving.

Not that her efforts were proving to be worth much.  There were a handful of sailors due to report on Monday, but aside from that, the entire thing seemed to be a giant black hole.  Nowhere could she find mention of who would be commanding this mysterious _Stingray_ , let alone a crew manifest.

And the personnel files for those reporting with her were far from heartening.  Save for herself and Henderson, not a single one of them were without disciplinary statements of one sort or another.

 _Insubordination, dereliction of duty, gambling, contraband…_ She scrolled through the list of offenses she had compiled.  _What is this, the Dirty Dozen?_ Scorpion _is starting to look better and better…_  

But no, she wouldn’t work under Oliver Hudson again if she had anything to say about it.  Especially not after the last fight they had.  If he couldn’t trust her judgment, their entire working relationship would be undermined.  And the fact that he had assumed she was going ‘against him’ simply because she had asked a _relevant_ question did not bode well for any crew stuck with the two of them—friction between a Captain and his XO would wear off on the sailors in a heartbeat and make for a dysfunctional command.  She’d seen it happen before, and Katie would be damned if she’d let it happen on any boat where she was the XO.

 _But dealing with the UEO Screw-up? I don’t know, Katie…_

She started at the top of her personnel list again, hoping to find something to indicate that these sailors weren’t as bad as she thought.  The only faint praise she could manage was that none of them seemed to be repeat offenders.  Many of them even seemed to be brilliant in their fields, right up until they’d managed to derail their own careers.  Most of them were young, even, and were getting dumped into her lap after their first disciplinary action.

Being torpedoed after one screw-up sounded awfully familiar, though.  In fact, it sounded rather like her own situation— _Don’t think like that, Katie.  You don’t_ know _anything, and you’re angry enough that you’d blame Hudson for starting a thunderstorm, so stop it.  Don’t dig yourself in any deeper than these orders are making you go._

She groaned, shutting down her computer.  Those files weren’t going to change what they said, just because she wanted them to, and poring over them would only drive her nuts.

 _Suck it up, Commander.  They may be a bunch of rejects that are being dumped on you, but they’re_ your _rejects now.  Deal with it._

* * *

26 November 2023

Miguel was just about to quit for the day when Tim stuck his head into the sonar space that he had been working in.  The data feed coming from the WSKRs was coming across his console corrupted, and although Lucas thought that the problem was in the code (which had been designed for _seaQuest_ II and only three WSKRs, not _seaQuest_ III and a potential maximum of six), Miguel wanted to be sure that none of his hardware was malfunctioning before he blamed it on Lucas’ several-year old code.  The EWO was about three-quarters of the way through updating it, after all, and some of the faults the sonar system was displaying just didn’t fit the pattern.

Unfortunately, ten straight hours of work (he’d forgotten lunch until Ben dropped a sandwich on his head) gave him no additional leads, and the cranky system was just going to have to wait until the morning.  At least he’d gotten the stealth sub’s signature processed as much as possible, so everything else could wait.  Miguel was _beat_.

“Hey Miguel,” the acting XO said cheerfully.  “The captain wants to see you before you head out for the day.”

That was a surprise.  “What for?”

“I’m not sure.” Tim shrugged.  “He just asked me to tell you.”

“Aren’t you a bundle of help?”

In the “real” Navy (as opposed to the strangely relaxed hodge-podge of the old _seaQuest_ ) a junior officer really shouldn’t say something like that to a lieutenant commander—but Miguel was a Warrant Officer, now, which meant he was supposed to be obnoxious and crusty.  Warrants were chosen out of the chief’s mess to be exactly that—subject matter experts who might just happen to be a little rough around the edges.  Technically, Tim was his boss; Sonar and Sensors _did_ fall underneath the Operations Officer.  But Tim only grinned.

“Aren’t I just?” he answered.  “He’s in his cabin right now, if you’re on your way out.”

“I was, yeah.”

Those words sent Miguel trudging down the passageway and towards Bridger’s cabin.  A long time ago, when he’d first reported to _seaQuest_ as a first class petty officer, he had dreaded that walk—but Stark had always been hard on her crew, no matter how charismatic she could be on a good day.  Captain Bridger, however, was not Stark, and Miguel had long ago figured out that there was no need to fear the “Old Man” unless you’d royally screwed up.  Even then, if you came to him with a solution to your own mess, he usually wasn’t that bad.

As far as Miguel knew, he hadn’t screwed up lately.  Since the walk from Sonar Room 5 to the Captain’s cabin was not a short one, he had plenty of time to contemplate his own possible misdeeds, which meant he should be in the clear.

The hatch to Bridger’s stateroom was open, but he knocked on the rim of it, anyway.  Inside, Bridger was flipping through some papers.  “You wanted to see me, Captain?”

“Come in, Miguel.  And close the door, if you don’t mind.”

Wondering if he’d been wrong about messing up, Miguel did so.  Fortunately, Bridger did not give him long to think about it, waving him into a chair and saying:

“I’ve been looking at the data on that stealth sub _Atlantis_ detected, and I think it’s pretty solid.  More importantly, I think it needs to be brought up at the upcoming UEO Command Strategy Board.”

Miguel blinked.  “I…um, thought that the commander of SUBRON Three squashed that report.”

“He did,” Bridger replied.  “Unfortunately for Commodore Allan, though, I’ve been invited to attend the Strategy Board, and I plan to bring the information with me.  And you, of course.”

“And _me?_ ” he couldn’t help it if his voice squeaked a bit on that last word; Miguel had enlisted in the Navy as a deck seaman and had worked his way up to being a Chief Warrant Officer.  Nowhere in that job description, however, did it include talking big-picture strategy with the UEO brass.

“And you,” Bridger confirmed.  “You won’t be there for the entire meeting, just the parts about the stealth sub.  No one knows this subject better than you do, and they need to understand that there’s a threat out there.  Otherwise, we’re all screwed.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, was there?  One of the crappy parts about serving on _seaQuest_ was that it sometimes meant you were the fleet’s expert on something weird, which was definitely not a status programmed to make Miguel comfortable.  He _hated_ things like this.  “I…guess I’ll do what I can, sir.”

“Good man.”  Bridger rose, signaling that the conversation was over.  “We’re on a military flight out of Hickam in three hours.  Go pack a bag.”

There were times that Miguel really wanted to kick Bridger, but that just wasn’t done.  There was a bright side to such short notice, though.  At least he wouldn’t have days to fret about this—the meeting would probably be over by the time he could work up a good storm of worry.  “I’ll be there, Captain.” 

Of course, by the time Miguel made it back to his barracks room, he was well and truly nervous—he didn’t _like_ admirals, and he didn’t like UEO officials, either.  And in his experience, they didn’t like him, either. 

“This is crazy,” he muttered to himself, shoving his dress uniform into a suitcase.  The captain hadn’t told him to pack it, but with the UEO brass around, he was sure to need it.  Miguel stared at the rest of his closet for a long time, and finally started dumping random bits of other uniforms into the suitcase.  He’d just bring everything.


	7. Deceptions and Planning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So usually we try and get the chapter up here and on ff.n at about the same time (Robin posts there, and Sol posts here), but as I (Sol) didn't have computer access all day, I'm just getting this up now. Sorry for the delay, but I hope you all enjoy, regardless!

27 November 2023

"Please have two forms of identification in addition to your military ID and orders ready for inspection," the bored sounding guard told the five people remaining in the room. "When your name is called, you will be brought out for screening."

Katie wanted to snap at the young Marine corporal that they had heard him the last three times he had given this speech after someone else was called from the conference room. Unfortunately, with three enlisted sailors and a junior officer in the room, Katie had to keep her cool and maintain a professional image. She had been one of only two officers in the large group that had been bused over to this complex in an obscure corner of the base this morning, and from what she'd gathered, all thirty-four of the sailors were assigned to _Stingray_ , which meant she was their XO. Or would be, soon enough. And that meant she couldn't afford to let her temper get the better of her—they did not need to see her as a screamer who could not control herself.

 _First impressions, my ass,_ she thought in irritation. She was bored of sitting in this room, bored of having nothing to do for the last two hours, and frustrated with how long and convoluted the security process was. Everyone in the room already _had_ a security clearance, so what did the security pukes think they were accomplishing, anyway? Katie liked to be _doing_ things, and patiently waiting her turn just wasn't something she was very good at. The only up side to this whole _Stingray_ mess was that it had gotten her away from Oliver Hudson.

 _Fat load of good that does you, if you're stuck in a bureaucratic nightmare instead. I'd almost be willing to go back to Hudson, if this is some stupid UEO "think tank". Almost._

Jonathan hadn't been able to uncover anything about the mysterious "submarine" _Stingray_ , and neither had any of her other friends scattered across the Navy. She'd even gone so far as to call one of her old bosses at the War College, but no one had heard of any boat named _Stingray_ , unless they counted the one from a movie named "Down Periscope."

The movie was funny—she'd watched it after enough people told her about it—but what it implied did not exactly bode well for her career prospects. The only good thing was that the UEO's Naval Registry now did list a submarine with that name, officially a "new technology test bed." However, Katie figured that was just an additional layer of security. After a week of digging, she'd come to the conclusion that _Stingray_ was simply a cover for something else. The submarine community was a tight one, and if such an experimental boat had existed, someone would have heard of it by now.

Unfortunately, that left her again with the assumption that this was some sort of think tank. Or that it was a hole that the Navy threw people in when their careers belonged in the rubbish bin.

"Why do you think security's so tight, ma'am?" Ensign Henderson asked her in a hushed whisper, glancing towards the Marine as if he would shoot them for talking to one another. Judging from the look on his face, he might have wanted to, but Katie was willing to take the risk that he wouldn't.

She outranked him by about a mile, after all, and while he might have had positional authority over her at the moment, Marines were always respectful to senior officers.

"I guess we'll find out when we're done with it," Katie said, wishing she had a better answer to offer. She hated not having answers, and she hated the look the three sailors exchanged when she couldn't offer them an explanation as to what was going on.

"Do you think…" Henderson hesitated, and Katie sent another mental curse in Oliver Hudson's general direction. Ever since they had been rescued from _Torsk_ , the young officer had been quiet and withdrawn, not at all like the bubbly, open, young woman who had gotten on Katie's nerves before. She wouldn't have thought so at the time, but Katie would do almost anything to get the chattier version of Henderson back.

"Go on," Katie prompted her. Henderson leaned closer to Katie.

"Do you think we're allowed to go to the bathroom?" the ensign asked, voice dropping down to a whisper.

Katie resisted the unprofessional urge to giggle, and then had to stifle a sigh. Henderson's question wasn't entirely unwarranted. They'd been here since 0600, first in a waiting room, and then they had each passed through an initial screening before entering the conference room. Checking her watch, Katie noticed that it was approaching noon, and they had yet to be offered anything to eat or drink, nor a chance to use the restrooms.

She stood up and approached the corporal. He tensed, watching her warily, and Katie just arched an eyebrow at him. _At least he_ seems _to be paying attention._

"I'm going to have to ask you to take your seat until your name is called, ma'am," the corporal told her.

She looked him in the eye. "I'm going to have to ask you where the head is, Corporal. I assume that's permitted?"

He actually blushed. "Um, yes, ma'am. It's right over there."

Katie followed his gesture with her eyes, shooting him a slightly wicked smile. "Thanks, Corporal." Turning back towards her old seat, she gestured to the young ensign. "Come on, Lonnie. Let's go be girls."

Lonnie laughed outright, and one of the nearby petty officers snickered a bit, but clamped down on his amusement the moment Katie looked his way, clearly expecting to be yelled at. "Relax, Garrett," she said with a smile. "Even Commanders have to use the head sometimes."

Since she _did_ have to go to the bathroom, and she _really_ wanted to move around, Katie figured that going to the head was a good idea. Besides, her comment had finally brought a smile to Lonnie's face, and that had to be good for something.

* * *

28 November 2023

By the time they got off of the plane, Miguel felt like he'd been through a blender. Twice.

"What time zone are we in now, sir?" he asked, squinting in the sunlight.

"I think the more important question is what time it actually is," Bridger replied with a snort.

"It's zero-nine hundred, sir," the lieutenant commander who had shown up to escort them said helpfully. Miguel had already forgotten her name, but she looked angry, for some reason.

"Thanks." The captain spoke politely enough, but Miguel caught a mischievous twinkle in his eye that said he didn't really like her, either. "So, are you ready to wow everyone with your technical expertise, Miguel?"

Miguel tried to ignore the twisting feeling in his stomach, wiping sweaty palms onto the sides of his trousers. "I think so, sir."

"Relax," the captain told him as they got into the waiting car—Miguel had never actually been chauffeured anywhere in his life, but there was definitely a driver in the front seat. "You'll do fine. Everyone on that board puts his or her pants on in the morning the same way you do."

"You're not going to tell me the one about imagining them in their underwear, are you, sir? Because I know what some of these people look like, and I'm not sure I want to be thinking about that," Miguel said with a grimace. "I won't be able to concentrate on _anything_ , if I did that."

Bridger laughed; their escort, sitting up front with the driver, looked like she wanted to shout at Miguel. "No, using that line usually just gets me in trouble."

Miguel managed a smile in return, though it did little to help his nerves. He knew once he got talking, he would be fine. There were very few people in the Navy who knew sonar like he did, and he didn't have a problem bragging about that. But some of these people would only understand one word out of three that Miguel said, and he hated having to dumb things down for politicians.

The ride from the airport to UEO Headquarters took about an hour; Miguel spent most of it reviewing his notes on a mini comp that had come with his posting on the first _seaQuest_ ; Lucas called it an antique, but it worked just fine for him. As an added bonus, this computer held _all_ of his notes from the last several years, which meant he never had to track them down when he was working on a new project.

The captain, he noticed, did much the same, punching through multiple files on his own mini comp with a look of concentration on his face.

"We're here," the lieutenant commander said, looking like she had something smelly stuck under her nose. Of course, _she_ was wearing her dress uniform, whereas Miguel and Bridger were still in their khakis, which were more than a bit rumpled from the flight.

"Thank you, Commander," the captain said courteously, gesturing Miguel out of the car first. "Still nervous?"

"Until I'm done," he replied. At least he knew he'd have the captain on his side, in there. He couldn't imagine going in without at least one friendly face in the crowd.

Bridger grinned again. "Most of what you have to say might as well be in Greek for these people, so just keep it simple, and I'll translate for anyone who doesn't understand. Your piece shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes, and then the Commander here will show you into an office where you can get some work done while you wait for me."

"Do you anticipate whatever you're talking about to take long, sir?" Miguel asked. He couldn't help being a little bit nosy, and if the captain wasn't willing to share, he'd drop the subject.

Bridger's straightforward answer made the lieutenant commander—Michaels, her nametag said, now that he could see it—scowl. "Unfortunately. I'll be here for the entire meeting, and war planning is rarely a quick process."

Miguel had known they were gearing up for war, of course, but to hear the captain be so frank about it sent shivers down his spine. This wasn't the Nathan Bridger who was captain of the first seaQuest, who could more often than not be found on a science deck than doing anything even vaguely militant. "I'll try and be patient, then, sir."

"Thanks." The captain's smile was a bit strained. "I'm still hoping that this meeting is pointless, of course, and that this thing won't come down to actual war, instead of nasty border conflicts."

"And Commander Krieg won't try and run any of his infamous schemes this tour either," Miguel offered with a half smile.

"Right," was the laughing answer. They were across the parking lot, now. Glancing up at the building, he noticed that it looked surprisingly drab. He'd never been to the UEO headquarters building before, and somehow Miguel had expected it to be more impressive. After all, wasn't the UEO supposed to be the world's greatest power, capable of keeping the peace and all that?

 _Then again, if people believed that, we wouldn't be almost at war,_ he thought to himself. _And I wouldn't have to tell a bunch of admirals and important people about a Macronesian stealth sub. They wouldn't build something like that if they were still_ afraid _of us._

With that happy thought, he and Bridger followed Commander Michaels inside and through a labyrinth of hallways, up four floors on an elevator, and finally up a flight of spiraled stairs. Finally, they reached a door with two guards outside it, both of which were alert. _Definitely not rent-a-cops, those two,_ Miguel thought. _They're actual Marines._

Everyone in the Navy knew that if something was really important, you guarded it with Marines. _Guess the security here_ is _tight,_ he realized. _Great. Can I go home yet?_

The Marines checked their identification with a scrutiny that made Miguel uneasy, but at least they didn't let Lieutenant Commander Michaels through the door. She was still looking at Miguel like he was some slimy creature from outer space, and having her in the room would definitely have made matters even worse.

At least he didn't have to stay for the entire meeting—that would be torture of a new and creative sort.

"Showtime," Bridger said, but he was not smiling as he led the way through the door.

"Glad you could join us, Nathan. Mr. Ortiz, isn't it?" Admiral Noyce said, standing up from the table to shake the captain's hand.

"Yes, sir." Miguel tried to keep his eyes from popping out of his head—there were _way_ too many stars in that room.

Bridger, however, replied a lot more casually as he took the admiral's hand. "Hello, Bill."

A fast glance around told Miguel that this was going to be a small meeting; there were only seven people in the room and only nine seats around the table. Four of the people already seated, however, were flag or general officers, in addition to one captain and two commanders. The surroundings were plush, too; every chair at the table was plush-looking leather, and there were carafes of water and glasses set out, already. Each seat had its own mini comp station, and every bit of electronic equipment in the room was first rate.

"Have a good flight in?" the admiral asked, gesturing the two _seaQuest_ officers towards empty seats as he returned to his own. "You haven't eaten breakfast yet, have you? We're having food brought in shortly." For a war meeting, everyone seemed terribly cheerful.

"Long," Bridger replied, sitting down without any preamble. At least _he_ didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that he'd sat next to a commodore, but Miguel was really glad that only a commander was to his right.

The chairs were comfortable, though. Comfortable enough that Miguel started immediately worrying that he might nod off—there wasn't a military plane in the universe that had seats this comfortable, and he'd cramped his way across the Pacific. _I guess that it's fortunate I'm too terrified to sleep. And I hope I'll be briefing first, so I can get_ out _of here fast._

"You remember General Thomas, of course, and Commodore Vanalden," Admiral Noyce said towards the captain, mostly ignoring Miguel. _Fine by me._ "General Sullivan is the commandant of the Marine Corps, Captain Jones is joining us from the Royal Navy, Commander Wright is Intel, and Commander Piper is part of the war college's Strategic Studies Group."

Bridger nodded a greeting, looking strangely military. Then the admiral's attention shifted towards the rest of the room. "And you've all heard me speak about Captain Bridger, he's the head of our Weapons and Tactical Development Division."

 _The head of what?_ Miguel thought, but Bridger shot him a warning look to keep him quiet. He'd known _seaQuest_ was classified, but that was a bit much. _Then again, calling her "Project Anzio" was a bit over the top, too, so I guess this is par for the course._

"You've been behind the development of the new interceptors and torpedoes, no?" Commodore Vanalden asked.

"I have, but much of that is due to Doctor Bob Palardy and his team. They're geniuses in weapons development; I mostly just give them direction and stay out of their way," Bridger replied honestly.

"Still, it's pretty impressive," one of the commanders said, making the captain shrug. Miguel, on the other hand, was staring at him and trying to hide his confusion—what _were_ these people on about? _Then again, he must have been doing something in the years we didn't have a_ seaQuest. _Why not that?_

"That actually brings us neatly to the first topic," Admiral Noyce said cheerfully, reseating himself. "Nathan here has dug up something interesting. Some new stealth technology?" Admiral Noyce asked pointedly. Miguel felt his stomach flop again, knowing it would be his turn to speak very soon.

"Actually, credit for this find goes to Captain Ford on _Atlantis_ ," Bridger replied. "I just stole his sonar officer, and we've had some time to go over the data, which I believe reveals an alarming increase in Macronesian stealth technology. In fact—"

"Is this the same report that Commodore Allan failed to endorse?" It was Vanalden again, and Miguel already didn't like him.

Neither did Bridger, judging from the look in his eyes. "It is. However, as I was saying, we've had time to reevaluate the data since Captain Ford made his initial sighting report. Chief Warrant Officer Ortiz—" he gestured at Miguel "—was _seaQuest's_ senior sonarman on her first two tours, and I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that he knows his business. Captain Ford _did_ encounter a stealth submarine, and if we ignore that fact, we're going to find ourselves sorely unprepared when the time to pay the piper comes along."

He turned to face Miguel. "The floor's yours, Warrant."

Miguel cleared his throat, glancing down at his notes briefly, before looking up to address the brass. "Good morning, ladies and gentleman, my name is Chief Warrant Officer Ortiz, and today I'll be briefing you on...

* * *

Day two of the endless security checks started with a bang—quite literally, in fact. A hurried-looking yeoman rushed through the doors five minutes after the new " _Stingray"_ crew members had been bused over from the barracks they were required to sleep in (a real idiocy, in Katie's opinion, since she _had_ an apartment in Honolulu, and many of the other sailors lived locally, as well), and proceeded to drop the portable fingerprint scanner she was carrying. It landed with a crash…and then proceeded to shatter into four separate pieces.

"I could fix that for you, you know," one of the senior petty officers on the crew offered, making the Yeoman give him a Look of Death.

"I'm not letting you fix a piece of equipment that's going to be verifying _your_ identity," she retorted, looking superior.

"Oh, come _on_ ," the sailor retorted. His nametag read 'Reynolds, George, ET2,' and Katie vaguely remembered from his file that he'd been demoted for gross insubordination. "I'm an electronics technician, not a hacker. I can't reprogram it worth a damn, but I can put it back together again."

"Go sit down," the yeoman ordered tartly.

"It'll take about five minutes," he wheedled.

"Sergeant!" the yeoman spun, calling one of the Marine guards over. "This Petty Officer refuses to take his seat as required."

"Forget it," Reynolds muttered, turning to plop down in one of the same uncomfortable chairs they had all sat in for fourteen hours yesterday. "Last time I try to be helpful on this rust bucket."

 _And there I was thinking that Hudson and I fighting could create a dysfunctional crew,_ Katie thought to herself, trying not to scowl. _Regardless of who my boss is on this boat, we're being_ handed _a dysfunctional crew right from the get-go._ This job was just looking better and better by the moment.

 _I just hope the_ captain _isn't dysfunctional, too,_ her mind added before she could stop it.

Meanwhile, the same yeoman was telling one of the Marines that a new fingerprint scanner would have to be fetched from the base's main administrative office, and that they couldn't _possibly_ get started with any of the other required checks until the scanner was there, which meant that the entire day's schedule would have to be bumped back by at least an hour, and everyone would just have to wait.

"Are they saying what I think they are, ma'am?" Lonnie asked from the seat to her left.

Katie bit down on her frustration. "Yeah, I think they are." She got up and went over to the yeoman, doing her best to pull off the persona of a Big Scary Officer in the process.

It must have worked a bit, because the yeoman looked up from the desk she was behind immediately. "Can I help you, Commander?"

She smiled at the young woman. Anyone with any sense would know it wasn't a nice smile, but the yeoman didn't show any recognition of Katie's irritation. "Is there some reason why we can't skip the fingerprint scan for now? I'm sure your superior officers would love to hear about the initiative you took to keep things moving along smoothly."

"Oh, no, ma'am," was the unfortunately earnest response. "My lieutenant was very clear when I spoke to him this morning after Quarters: every check has to be done in the specific sequence that has been ordered. I'm very sorry for the delay."

Katie wanted to reach across the desk and strangle the by-the-book yeoman, but with the Marines loitering around, she knew that would only get her into more trouble than it would be worth. "Is there any way you could call your lieutenant and tell him what happened?"

"I'm afraid he's in meetings all morning, ma'am, and I couldn't possibly interrupt those."

The benefits of strangling her were starting to outweigh the negatives. _Behave in front of your crew, Katie._ "Let me guess—he's in meetings with his superior, so there's no chance of talking to _him_ , either?"

"Yes, ma'am. It shouldn't take more than an hour to get a replacement machine here, though. We'll be up and running in no time."

"Is there nothing I can do to convince you to continue with our agenda instead of making us suffer for your mistake?" Katie asked, fighting to keep her tone polite.

Something irritated flicked across the yeoman's face, but she erased it before Katie could even think about calling her disrespectful. "I wish I could, Commander, but it's just not done that way in the security world."

Judging from the look on her face, she wished anything _but_ that, though there was nothing Katie could do to prove it. And strangling the yeoman would get her nowhere, no matter how many times she had to tell herself that.

"Then I suggest you make it your first priority to get that replacement unit here as soon as humanly possible," Katie said, her voice growing hard. "And in the meantime, see if you can get in touch with your lieutenant during one of his breaks."

"I'll do my best, ma'am."

Was the yeoman even _trying_ to sound sincere now? Katie wasn't sure if her own frustration was getting the better of her by this point, so she nodded and turned away before she could say anything nasty. Even if her next boat was full of screw-ups, _she_ wasn't going to act like one, and she refused to let her new sailors see her vent her fury on another enlisted sailor, no matter how much the yeoman deserved it.

"Looks like we're stuck waiting," she said, sitting down next to Henderson again.

"Thanks for trying, ma'am," the ensign said softly.

Katie mustered up a smile, resigning herself to another painfully long, boring day. _I should have brought a book..._

But no one had thought to put 'entertainment items' on the packing list enclosed in her orders, and who would have thought that she'd have to endure this administrative nightmare before checking into whatever _Stingray_ was a cover for? For a moment, she actually missed her ex-husband; at least Ben would have thought up something interesting to do.

Then she regained her sanity. Adding Ben to this situation would have only added insult to injury. _At least he's one screw-up I won't have to deal with!_

* * *

Miguel had left the conference room after breakfast, and Nathan trusted that the sour-looking lieutenant commander had found him someplace comfortable to work and/or nap while he waited for the rest of the Strategy Board to finish up, because the meeting promised to be a long one.

What he found most interesting was that every board member, including himself, to a certain degree, seemed to view eventual war with Macronesia as inevitable. Commander Patricia Piper was busy briefing what the War College assessed Macronesia's initial deployments would look like—and in Nathan's experience, those war games had a disturbing tendency accurately predict actual events—but no one had even given war _prevention_ activities any lip service at all.

 _Does the fact that no one is considering how to prevent another world war disturb you, Nathan, or is it the fact that you_ agree _with them?_ his conscience asked helpfully.

Trying not to scowl, Nathan pushed the thought aside. He'd decided that he had to put his hatred of war aside over a year ago, now, and he wasn't there to play the peacemaker—the UEO had politicians for that, and they were doing a bang-up job of getting people killed at the moment. Frankly, war would probably be _better_ for the UEO Navy than peace would; at the moment, more boats were getting sunk because they couldn't fight back than would probably be lost during wartime. And there was nothing Nathan hated more than getting sailors killed because the politicians were afraid.

After Commander Wright added the current intelligence estimate to the tactical picture, Nathan spoke up. "How confident are you in the numbers of Macronesian bases and warships you've projected?"

"About eighty percent, sir," Wright answered immediately. "We're fairly sure that we've got the locations of the bases nailed down, but we've known for some time that there are at least two secret shipbuilding projects underway, and we haven't been able to gain any intelligence on how many submarines they are building or where they are doing it."

 _That sounds familiar,_ Nathan thought without letting amusement color his expression.

"So," he said, doing some quick math in his head. "We're looking at an eight- or nine-to-one tonnage disadvantage right now, and that'll only get worse the longer we wait to declare war."

"Exactly." Wright's expression looked strained; in fact, every face around the table looked grim. They all knew what the numbers meant—every day the UEO government waited to declare war, the Macronesians pumped out more military equipment and trained more people…something that none of the UEO's member nations or confederations would be willing to do until war was declared. _No one wants to spend money on the military when it might not be needed, but when it_ is _needed, it's already too late to start._

Nathan rubbed a hand across his chin, feeling a bit of stubble. Fourteen hours on a plane after a long workday meant he really could use a shave, but he'd accidentally left his razor in back in Pearl Harbor.

"The politicians are going to want us to form what vessels we do have in a defensive line, trying to keep the Macronesians from breeching our borders," Commodore Vanalden said testily. "And we don't have enough boats to cover existing territories as it is—where do they want us to get enough forces to counter _that_ armada?"

Bill shot Vanalden a frustrated look; Nathan gathered that this was a discussion they had frequently. "We can't change what the politicians do or don't do," the admiral replied. "We can only figure out how to best deploy the assets we have."

"We can't counter them ship on ship," Nathan spoke up before Vanalden could, but he addressed the Commodore's concerns. "So why try? What we really have to do is force them not to deploy their full strength against us. If they do, we're screwed."

"What do you suggest?" a British accented-voice asked, and Nathan turned to face the speaker.

Captain Jones' manner was rather more respectful than any exchange between captains of equal rank usually was, but Nathan figured that he had to be the single most senior captain in the entire UEO, even if one didn't count the years he'd spent retired. In fact, he'd become a captain long before Vanalden was even a _commander_ , and he'd had his first command two years before that. He really did fit the Navy's stereotype of the "old man" commanding a submarine, but Nathan didn't mind.

The day he let someone pin stars to his collar was the day he retired for good. He _liked_ being in command—and not of a desk. Or even a squadron. _seaQuest_ was home, and that was that.

"We take the fight to them," he said simply, making Vanalden scowl.

"Fine words, but do you have an idea to back it up, _Captain?_ "

He ignored the sneer. "Wolfpacks," Nathan answered. "Unrestricted submarine warfare. The Germans did it in World War II with great success, despite their fleet being sorely outnumbered, and NORPAC did the same in the Aegean campaign during World War III. The world has changed quite a bit, so we'll have to modify the operating orders, but if we can get boats behind Macronesian lines and start destroying infrastructure and wrecking havoc on their supply lines, they'll never be able to deploy overwhelming force on the border."

Suddenly, he had everyone's attention.

"The politicians will _hate_ that," General Thomas put in immediately, but he looked pretty happy. He'd been downright belligerent in the first part of the meeting, but had fallen silent when naval tactics had taken over the discussion. Thomas was an army officer, after all, and knew about as much about naval warfare as Nathan did about parachuting. _Probably less._

"They'll hate losing the war more," Bill countered.

"How do we do it?" Vanalden interjected immediately. "The logistics of supporting a group of subs deep in Macronesian territory would be a nightmare—and this isn't the Battle of the Atlantic. You can't hide an oiler in their waters and hope to get supplies to the boats that way."

"No, it'll have to be more like the Aegean campaign," Nathan agreed. "Once we cut the boats loose, they'll have to go completely EMCON and it'll be an independent command. If we plan for it to be a long deployment—and the initial one gives us the best chances of doing so, along with the best chances for success—one of the boats will have to play supply and weapons hauler for the others."

"That won't work with an attack sub," General Thomas put in, glaring at Nathan. Apparently he did know _something_ about submarine warfare…but not enough.

Nathan and Bill exchanged a glance, and he waited for his friend to nod before continuing. Everyone in the room had the highest of security clearances, anyway, and sooner or later, the UEO's top military leaders had to know. Now was as good a time as any to let the cat out of the bag. Nathan took a deep breath.

"You can with _seaQuest_ ," he said quietly.

Vanalden's and Jones' eyebrows shot up immediately, but Thomas got in first—and with a whole lot more fury:

"Not this again!" the general snapped, swinging to glare at Bill. "We've gone through this a thousand times—and even if the UEO was willing to cough up enough money to build a new 'supersub', it would take you _years_ to build one, and we don't have enough time for that!"

"Time is not the problem, Frank," Bill put in quietly. "Nathan?"

"Our slated commissioning is March 25th." He met Thomas' angry gaze. "And she's been built under wartime conditions, which means that upon commissioning, workups will be compete and she will be ready to deploy."

Silence filled the room for almost a complete minute, and Nathan could realization dawning on each face.

"That could change everything," Vanalden remarked. He was one of the most aggressive submariners in the service—Oliver Hudson had been his protégé until they'd had an interesting falling out—and clearly had not expected an ally in Nathan Bridger. Heads around the table nodded, agreeing with the commodore, and Thomas looked like he had no idea what to say. A small part of Nathan wanted to celebrate; pulling one over on Thomas was _nice,_ given how much he despised the army general, but the situation was too serious for smiles.

Bill smiled. "That's the idea. Now, ladies and gentlemen, before we get further into planning, I think we should make it clear that this will be a Codeword-protected operation, with no one outside this room told about it without my permission. Is that clear?"

Everyone answered in the affirmative, and Bill punched a few keys on his computer, clearly calling up the random generator that the UEO used to name protected information. "In that case, folks, let's start working on Plan…Calcimine."

* * *

 _This day keeps getting better and better_ , Katie thought to herself. It had taken closer to two hours for a replacement fingerprint scanner to be brought in, and if she had been in a less generous mood, she would have accused the yeoman of purposely slowing the process down instead of expediting it. Then they had to go through the process of confirming everyone's orders. Again.

 _As if anyone would fake orders for_ this _freak show_.

They were back in the conference room now, the same place where they'd spent so much time being screened the day before. Katie was really starting to hate this room, and the chairs were making her back hurt. She kept her sigh as quiet as possible, flipping through the stack of forms she had been given with growing irritation.

"Didn't we fill out these same forms back at the SUBRON, ma'am?" Lonnie asked her in an undertone, leaning over so that no one else could hear her. "I thought that our orders told us to arrive with these forms already filled out?"

"Yeah, we did fill them out, like our orders said. I'm sure it's wishful thinking that they didn't mean to make us do this twice," she replied.

Lonnie scowled. "Why do I get the feeling that we're being screwed with?"

"I'm sure the UEO doesn't have the inclination to waste their resources messing with us, Ensign," Katie said sternly. _At least, I don't think they do..._

"Sorry, ma'am. I guess I'm a bit frustrated," her young subordinate said, turning a bit red. Lonnie changed the subject in a hurry. "What do you think the boat is going to be like?"

"I honestly don't know." She didn't like admitting to that, but Henderson didn't need Katie lying to her. "Whatever it turns out to be though, she'll be ours."

"Some of the enlisted guys are saying that there isn't a sub named _Stingray_ at all, and that this is all a cover-up for something else."

Lonnie looked half-frightened, half-hopeful as she said those words, and Katie could not have agreed more with those feelings. However, it was her job to put a good face on everything, whether she liked the situation or not. _Sometimes, I'd really like to go back to just being an engineer,_ she thought. Her old job had been so much simpler than being an XO—the ship either worked, or it was broke. You either fixed things, or you didn't. End of story. And then she hadn't had to watch her temper nearly so much. Everyone expected the Chief Engineer to be cranky, but as the XO she had to be an example.

She weighed her options of telling Lonnie what she had learned from Jonathan the week before, but with the enlisted men straining to overhear their conversation, she wouldn't be able to be nearly as candid as she would have liked. "There _is_ a _Stingray_ in the Navy's registry. I checked after we got our orders."

 _It just didn't exist last month,_ she didn't add.

"There's a very good chance that there's almost no information about _Stingray_ because she's new. And if she's new, then that means she'll be top of the line," Katie offered. It sounded pathetic even to her own ears, though the words did seem to mollify Lonnie slightly.

"Do you think she's a _Valiant-_ class, then, ma'am?" Lonnie asked, clearly relaxing a bit at the thought. _Torsk_ had been the second boat in the _Valiant_ class, and no young officer relished the idea of relearning everything just because they'd gone to a new type of submarine.

 _Don't I wish._ The _Valiants_ were the newest and most advanced subs in the fleet, and so far as Katie knew, _Scorpion_ was the newest one. And of course, Hudson had gotten that plum command. She was pretty sure that she'd read a news release about the next one being named _Trident_ , not _Stingray_. But she wasn't going to tell Lonnie that. Not right now.

Instead, she smiled at the young woman. "That's as good a possibility as anything," she said. _And not even a lie._

Lonnie smiled back. "A few of my friends from OCS got to pre-commission a new boat. They said its hard work, but really rewarding in the end."

Katie hadn't ever been on a pre-commissioning crew either, but if the retrofit of the first _seaQuest_ was anything to go by, it would involve long hours and lots of stress. Still, she wouldn't have traded that experience for anything, so she was able to say honestly: "Let's hope it's rewarding enough to make up for this mess they're putting us through first."

"I bet it will, ma'am." Sunny Lonnie was back—did the girl _ever_ stay down for long? But her happy attitude made even Katie smile despite herself.

The obnoxious yeoman stood up and came to the front of the room, stealing away Katie's chance to reply. "Ladies and gentlemen, tomorrow morning we will complete the security screening process. If you have been disqualified for some reason, you will be notified tonight and given new orders immediately. For those of you who qualify, you will be turned over to your new command tomorrow.

"This concludes today's business except for urinalysis testing. Chief Gatewood?"

Katie tuned out the burly chief as he explained the urinalysis process; she had gone through the testing at least a hundred times since arriving at the Academy in 2006, and she knew nothing had changed since—after all, she'd had to sign off on the results every month as _Torsk's_ XO. But at least Chief Gatewood was a more engaging speaker than the stubborn female yeoman Katie still wanted to strangle, and he was mercifully blunt, too.

"It's pretty simple," Gatewood said with a snort. "Just pee in your cup, don't put anything else in it, and don't let anyone else touch it. Any questions?"


	8. All Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know this chapter’s a bit slow, but the setup is just about done, and we’re about to start moving into a lot more action. Next chapter: “The Rising Tide”--the reality of war hits Lucas right where it hurts, seaQuest’s entire schedule gets thrown in the crapper, and Bridger gets painted into a corner he’s not sure he wants to be in.

29 November 2023

“It doesn’t look like anyone got disqualified,” Lonnie commented as they boarded the bus the next morning.  Again.

Katie did a quick headcount as the last sailor—it had to be Reynolds, didn’t it? She sensed a problem brewing there—sat down.  _Thirty-two.  Hm._ She shook her head in response to Lonnie’s comment.  “No.  We’re down two.”

“Oh.  I guess all those security checks did happen for a reason,” the ensign remarked, all but reading Katie’s mind.

She’d been ready to give someonea piece of her mind on the other end of the security screenings—preferably, whatever idiot was in charge of “ _Stingray’s_ ” security process and undoubtedly worked for her once she officially took over her job as XO—but apparently Lonnie was right.  _Something_ had been found on the two missing sailors, which meant the security pukes had done their jobs.  Even if they’d done their jobs in the most inefficient way possible, they’d _done_ them, which meant yelling at the idiots wouldn’t be nearly so satisfying.

"I guess I won't be able to yell at anyone, after all," Katie allowed herself to joke.

“I’m sure you could find someone, ma’am,” Lonnie replied with a grin.

As usual, they’d boarded the bus in front of the barracks the group had been assigned to—Katie and Lonnie had to walk over from the Officers’ Quarters a block or so away—and Katie had expected the bus to take them to their usual destination.  Even if the security pukes had eliminated two people already, Katie was certain that there was at least one more stack of paperwork in her future, one that probably needed to be filled out in that dreary conference room with its painful plastic chairs.   However, her favorite yeoman from the day before boarded the bus, wearing the same self-important smile.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said, and Katie finally caught sight of the nametag she hadn’t been wearing the day before.  _Bryant, Helen YN1_.  _I’ll remember that name._ “Today your routine will change, and this bus will take you to a new briefing location.  There, you will be given information pertaining to your final destination, and allowed one more chance to leave the _Stingray_ program.”

 _We've come this far.  Why would we want to miss out on all the other new torture techniques the UEO likes to call security procedures?_ Katie thought scathingly.

“What do you mean, ‘leave the program’?” ET2 Reynolds spoke up.  “Why would the UEO want us to leave after coming this far?”

Bryant smiled the insincere smile that Katie remembered all too well.  “The _Stingray_ program is an all-volunteer program,” she said pompously.  “If you do not wish to stay, we will happy to arrange new orders for you immediately.”

“I’d like to arrange something for you,” Reynolds muttered under his breath; thankfully, Bryant was not close enough to hear him, but Katie was.

She cleared her throat, giving him a look that warned him to _behave_.  It didn't matter that she agreed with his statement; sometimes she had to play the part of the disciplinarian, and that was generally the XO’s job, anyway.  But she looked away from Reynolds to speak to the yeoman coolly.  "I don't think anyone will be leaving at this point, Petty Officer Bryant.”

“I’m obligated to make the offer, ma’am,” Bryant replied with a sniff.  “However, since everyone is here, you can proceed.”

Her last words were to the bus driver, though Katie noticed that Bryant felt herself too important to ride the bus with the _Stingray_ sailors and the Marines who were still guarding them—she joined a few of her administrative colleagues in a follow-on car.  Glancing over at the car, Katie thought she noticed the flash of a lieutenant’s insignia.  Was Bryant’s absentee boss finally joining them?  For his sake, Katie almost hoped he wasn’t, because she didn’t exactly have anything complimentary to say about the yeoman. 

The rest of the bus ride took place mostly in silence; the sailors watched the base crawl by out the windows without much enthusiasm.  Katie joined in, noticing that while the security building had been all the way over on the Pearl City end of the base, the bus had exited the base and was driving along Kamehameha Highway.  Soon enough, they’d gone around the north end of the bay and were entering Pearl Harbor Naval Shipyard.

“Do you think they’re taking us to fly out of here?  Is that why they had us bring our gear along?” Lonnie asked her, gesturing at the mess of seabags filling the bus to capacity.

It was a valid question; the shortest way to get to Hickam Air Force base was to cut through the Naval Shipyard, though driving through the base instead of around it on the highway certainly wasn’t the _fastest_ way to get there.

"Maybe," she said.  "Or maybe the shipyard is our final destination." It wasn't as if anything else about this mess had made sense, so far, but as they made their way west towards the shore instead of further south towards the Air Force base, she had to wonder if they really _were_ going to a new boat.

“I looked up the newest _Valiant-_ class boat last night, and she’s not named _Stingray_ ,” Lonnie said quietly, staring dejectedly out the window.  “Her name is _Trident,_ and they’re building her out in Newport News, Virginia.”

Finally, the bus hung a right onto Halealii Road, turning directly away from the airfield and deeper into the Naval Shipyard, but that didn’t save Katie from addressing Lonnie’s concerns.  

"Maybe she's not a _Valiant_ -class, then," Katie tried to reassure her.  "We're certainly headed towards a boat slip, though."

"I didn't think they were building anything else right now, ma'am," the ensign said as they continued northeast.  The bus stayed on the same road until it passed all the piers and building slips, and then turned away from all the ships—and the few submarines tied up at the surface ship piers.

"If there's one thing I've learned in my time in the Navy is that the UEO is very good at keeping secrets.  Especially from itself," Katie said, trying to lighten the other woman's mood again.  _This is becoming a habit of mine, isn't it?_ she thought with an internal grimace.  Katie didn’t _dislike_ Lonnie, and had no problem bucking up her flagging spirits, but she really hoped that there would be someone else who took over this task.  An XO was busy enough without adding morale officer to her duties.

About a mile later, the bus stopped in front of a guarded fence line, behind which two dull-looking gray buildings stood.  The nearby sign read “Leftwich Street”, and the street itself seemed to end into the massive concrete doors of the first building.  The second building looked less imposing than the concrete monstrosity that the road ended at—it actually had some windows, Katie noticed, and looked rather like a drab office building—but there were Marines swarming all over the place, and very few Navy types to be seen.

“End of the line, folks,” the bus driver called, opening the doors.

"Should we have our IDs ready to be inspected _again_?" Katie asked dryly, standing up from her seat.

The bus driver only grunted out a laugh.  Katie led the way off of the bus, dumping her seabag onto the ground not far from where Petty Officer Bryant was standing.  Her sailors followed suit, most of them looking dubiously at the ugly concrete building.

“Here are your shipyard identification badges,” the yeoman explained to the group, handing them out.  It was a typical bad Navy picture, Katie noticed, and had very little information on it save for an identify chip, name, rank, and the words ‘crew member’.  “You will need these badges _in addition to_ your military ID to access this part of the base.  If you ever lose your shipyard badge, you will have to go to the administrative building over there.”

Bryant pointed at a small white building outside the fence line.

“Now, if you will all proceed through the first security checkpoint, I believe someone will meet you there.” Petty Officer Bryant turned to leave without another word, gesturing the sailors towards the pair of waiting Marines.

Katie had to bite back the urge to swear.  _First security checkpoint_ didn't bode well, in her opinion. 

"Will someone be coming for our bags, or are we expected to lug them through security with us?" Katie asked one of the Marines, pointedly ignoring Bryant.

He saluted, seemingly out of reflex, and did not answer until Katie had returned it.  “We’ll take care of them, ma’am.  May I see your ID, please?”

She sighed, holding both her regular ID and her new one out for inspection.  _Can't he see I just got off the bus with everyone else?_ But Marines were hard-wired to act in certain ways, and she didn't feel like throwing herself against that brick wall today.  Besides, at least _he'd_ been polite.

One by one, the new sailors filed through the first checkpoint, gathering up in another group short of the second checkpoint.  They’d stopped because Katie had, of course, but she could see no sign of this ‘someone’ who was supposed to meet them.

"At least I can work on my tan.  That's a step up from being stuck in that stupid conference room," Reynolds spoke up, his tone laced with sarcasm.  Katie had to agree with him in that regard, and she was sick of playing the waiting game.

"You could always take this time to contemplate the merits of knowing when to hold one's tongue, Mr. Reynolds," Katie said.  Her tone was dry, but not hard, and it was the closest she could come to joking with an enlisted sailor.

“Ma’am, if you’ve read my record, you know that I was supposed to learn that lesson a few years back.  It didn’t seem to stick,” the electronics technician replied with a cheeky grin.

"Your record isn't nearly as colorful as you seem to hope it is, Sailor.  Downright boring, in some places."

“XO, I’m hurt!  You think I’m boring.”  Reynolds faked a woeful expression but couldn’t hide his grin.  His record actually _was_ interesting, but not in a disciplinary sense—if he hadn’t had a problem with one officer at his last command, he would have been one of the youngest first class petty officers in the Navy.

She gave him a stern look, though she could feel the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.  "Don't consider that a challenge, either."

“Too late,” one of the other sailors muttered, and most of the group laughed.

Katie let herself smile.  The one upside to the last two days was that her small group had formed a bond.  _A burden shared, misery loves company, and all that feel-good crap.  But it's true, I guess._

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to UEO _Stingray._ ”

A familiar voice made Katie’s head snap around.  A slender figure dressed in oil-splashed coveralls and a faded ball cap had emerged from the concrete building, but it was not the gold scrambled eggs on the rim of the ball cap that made Katie pull up short—though they did make most of the sailors pop to attention.  Of course, a blue shoulder patch featuring three stars and three stripes probably helped with that, too, but Katie stared because she _knew_ him.  She hadn’t seen the captain in years, and this was the last place she’d expected to, but there was no mistaking that face.

He met her gaze for a split second, and Katie thought she saw a twinkle in the familiar brown eyes.  However, he continued speaking to the group:

“As some of you have no doubt deduced, there is no actual boat named _Stingray._ The ‘technology test bed’ vessel that is listed in the Naval Registry is a cover for something else entirely.  Unfortunately, I cannot tell you more than that…not yet, anyway.”

Katie heard a few murmurs from her sailors, but her own heart was beginning to race.  _It can’t be…_   The next words, however, really made a shiver of anticipation run through their small group.

“My name is Nathan Bridger, and I am the CO of the pre-commissioning unit that you have been hand-picked to join.  I can’t tell you what boat it is, or even what class, but I can tell you that we are building the newest, most technologically advanced warship in the world.  And you are here because you are the best of the best at what you do.

“This is an all-volunteer crew.  If you want out, the door’s right there.”  Bridger gestured at the security checkpoint they had passed through not too long before.  “I’m not promising you an easy tour, or even a fun one—but I do promise that whatever happens, you’ll be there for it.”  The captain paused.  “Now, I’ll answer what questions I can, but you’ve all got five minutes to decide if you’re coming or going.”

Lonnie raised her hand, looking for all the world like a high school student on a field trip.

The thought seemed to occur to Captain Bridger, too, because Katie saw the laughter in his eyes.  "Yes, Ensign?"

"Why all the secrecy and security, sir? I mean, we all got orders to be here, and we all had security clearances already..." Lonnie asked.

“Unfortunately, I can’t answer that right now.  Suffice it to say that there’s a reason for the repeated security screenings, as painful as they are.” Bridger grimaced. 

"Can you at least tell us that it's a submarine, sir?" Reynolds spoke up, looking serious for once.

Bridger chuckled.  "I think I can promise that much, yes."

"Better than the tanker they threatened me with," the brash electronics technician declared.  "I'm in."

Katie looked Bridger in the eye.  "Just tell me it really is what I think it is, sir."

“And what do you think it is, Commander?” he deadpanned.  Sometimes, she really _hated_ the captain’s poker face, but at least he continued speaking before she had to come up with a polite answer.  Bridger smiled.  “I think you’re safe in your assumption, XO.”

Hearing him use that title sent a shiver down her spine, and Katie felt downright giddy.  Under different circumstances, she would have already been jumping up and down and shouting with glee, but she _was_ the XO, and there were only thirty-plus sailors watching her and wondering what in the world she’d been talking about.  So, for now she had to settle on a grin that made her cheeks hurt—and oh, Jonathan was going to _kill_ her!

 _Unless he knew and didn't tell me.  Then I'll kill_ him.

"What is it?" Lonnie asked her, and the others waited for her response as well.

"Christmas just came early, Lonnie," she replied, not even trying to fight the smile.  The young ensign looked confused, but she nodded anyway.

"Can we see her?" Katie asked, turning her attention back to the captain.

Now Bridger did grin.  “Follow me,” he said.  “Unless anyone would like to go home, now?”

Her group seemed to be feeding off her excitement as they all lined up to follow Bridger. She gave the captain a mock-harsh look.  "Not a chance, sir," Katie said.

“Then let’s go.”  Leading the way through the security checkpoint, Bridger paused on the other side, waiting for Katie to fall into step next to him as the others trickled through the gate.  He held a hand out to her.  “Welcome back, Katie.”

She shook it.  "Thank you, sir.  But I thought the UEO wasn't going to build another one."

“They weren’t,” he said quietly.  “And then Macronesia rose, and started making threatening noises.  I got the call about a week later.”

The giant concrete building was clearly their destination; to Katie, it looked almost like an old nuclear bomb shelter, just a whole lot bigger. 

She grimaced at the thought of the increasing tensions and growing possibility of war, though her good mood couldn't be entirely ruined.  "How far along is she?"

"We're scheduled to launch in sixty-eight days, and to commission at the end of March."

"How long have you been keeping this a secret?" she asked, surprised.

Bridger shrugged.  "We laid her keel two years ago.  It's been hell keeping it quiet, though—hence all the checks you went through.  The project is still classified Top Secret, and all the funding goes through non-military channels.  We even have a different codeword every month, which makes wrestling with the Bureau of Personnel…interesting."

"So Jonathan really didn't know anything? I thought maybe he was lying," Katie said.

"Jonathan, tell a lie? Not so likely," was the chuckling response.  Then he turned serious.  "He doesn't know yet.  Very few people outside the project _do_ , and most of them are contractors we couldn't build her without.  She's being built by the Navy, Katie—not by a civilian company. That's why we've been able to keep a lid on her for so long."

"And that way you get to be in charge of design, too?" she asked with a grin.

"Trust me, that's not the wonderful deal it sounded like.  Between being CO and Project Manager, I spend a lot of conferences wanting to yell at myself," he replied wryly.

"I can always yell at you, if it would make your job easier, Captain," she said, flashing him a grin.

She had missed working with a CO that she could joke with like this.  Her future was looking much brighter than it had even that morning, even with the prospect of all the paperwork involved in her job looming over her head.  But at least that kind of paperwork was typical for an XO.  She could even deal with the insanity that came from pre-commissioning any warship, so long as it was _seaQuest_.

"I'm sure you will, sooner or later.  You might have to call Jonathan and ask for some of his 'Bridger management' techniques, too." But he grinned, returning the salutes of the Marines who were guarding the giant concrete doors.  "Here we are.  Brace yourself."

Together, they led the new sailors through the smaller door nestled in the bigger ones, and it took all of Katie's self control not to stop cold.  The doors were situated at _seaQuest's_ centerline, and the boat herself was still up on the blocks, but because of the way she rested in the lower portion of the drydock, Katie was looking at her exact center-point.

And she was _beautiful_.

She wanted to rush inside and start crawling through engineering spaces, familiarizing herself with this new boat.  Katie could tell she was longer and wider than the old _seaQuest_ , and she knew that would only be the tip of the proverbial iceberg of changes.  From where she was standing, she could almost count the boat's missile hatches and torpedo tube doors, and those alone indicated how many differences there were from the _seaQuest_ she had memorized from stem to stern so long ago, but just seeing her took Katie's breath away.

"Want a tour, or would you like to visit the _Arizona_ first?" Bridger asked with a gentle smile.

She felt her cheeks go scarlet.  "I think the _Arizona_ can wait, sir."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another familiar face greeting the enlisted sailors.  "Alrighty folks.  Playtime's over.  I'm Master Chief Crocker, and I'm the COB here.  You'll be split up by your departments in order to get a look at this here lovely lady, but until then, you'll stay with me."

Another officer approached even as Crocker finished talking, and Bridger introduced them: "Katie, this is Brad Williams, our Chief Engineer.  Cheng, this is Commander Hitchcock, the new XO."

"A pleasure, ma'am," Williams replied politely.

"Have you been taking care of my boat, Cheng?" she couldn't resist asking.

Williams took it in stride, grinning in return.  "I've been warned about you, XO."

Bridger chuckled, and cut into the conversation.  "Brad, this is Lonnie Henderson, your new Auxiliaries Officer."

Katie could tell a lot about a department head by the way they treated their division officers, and she was pleased to see that "Cheng" greeted Lonnie with a friendly smile.  "Welcome aboard, Auxo," he said.  "I'll get you settled in.  If you'll excuse us, Captain?"

Bridger waved them away with a nod, which left him and Katie alone.

"So, any questions you won't ask when there are junior officers about?"

She glanced around, making sure there wasn't anyone in earshot.  "I was looking at the personnel records for the sailors who checked in with me, Captain.  Have you had a chance to look at them?"

“I have, actually.  Something’s making you unhappy about them?”  There was that look, the one she’d forgotten—the one that told her that Bridger missed very little, and when he wanted to be, the man was damned perceptive.

The rest of the time, of course, he was the stereotypical absent-minded professor.

"Having spent the better part of two days trapped in a room with them, I don't think they're bad people.  But I'm not sure they're the best sailors, either," Katie said.

“No?” Bridger asked with a smile.  "Most of them are downright brilliant in their fields, Katie.  Sure, they've had a discipline problem or two, but I think we can deal with that."

"I was afraid you were going to say that, Captain."

“Relax.  Most of the problems they cause won’t even make it to you—that’s what the Navy created chiefs for, and we’ve got some good ones this time.”  The smile vanished, though, and the captain took a deep breath.  “I do have to warn you about our Supply Officer, though.”

That sinking feel she'd had for the last two days came back in full force.  "Tell me you're joking, sir.  _Please_ tell me you're joking."

“Sorry, Katie.”

He didn’t sound very sorry, though, and Katie could only sigh.  _This is going to be Hell..._

* * *

30 November 2023

The call came in five minutes before his alarm was set to go off, and it took him three flailing tries before he hit the button to turn the audio-only option on.

“Bridger.”

“Hello, Nathan,” a cheerful voice greeted him innocently.  “Did I wake you?”

“You know damn well you woke me up,” he groused, hitting the video-on button and squinting tiredly at the screen.  “It’s five ‘til six.”

“Did I forget that? I’m so sorry.  It’s almost eight here in San Diego.” Kristin’s smile was naughty, and Nathan sighed.

“Hi,” he relented.  Seeing her face was wonderful, even if he wished she’d called ten minutes later.  Nathan _missed_ her, even when she made him grouchy.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

“Don’t ‘sunshine’ me today, woman.  I flew to New Cape Quest and back in the span of forty-eight hours, and I’m _still_ trying to convince my body to get back on Hawaii time.”  Nathan turned off his alarm before it could start beeping.  “How’s disaster relief going?”

“Well enough.  San Diego is one of the few coastal cities in California that’s still intact—we’ve lost almost everything else in the tsunamis and the aftershocks, and every bit of stabilization we’ve tried has failed—but I’m sure you’ve seen that in the news,” she replied.  “Who am I lying to? It’s bad, Nathan.”

In the two months since the “Great Quake”, the death toll had already risen high enough to make it the most deadly earthquake ever recorded, and more people were dying every day, despite the best efforts of Kristin and her colleagues.  Nathan had been trying to follow the rescue and restoration efforts on the news, and he knew that Westphalen was fighting a losing battle…and it was a battle that could not have had worse timing, either.

 _I feel so dirty for being angry at the universe for making this earthquake happen_ now _, as if it’s the poor people in California’s fault that they are sucking in all of the UEO’s attention and resources away from the coming conflict with Macronesia._ Nathan pushed those thoughts aside with an effort.

“I wish I could help,” he said feelingly.  The entire situation left him torn.  The scientist in him wanted to turn the problem over in his mind until they found some way to stabilize the sinking California coastline.  His specialty was Marine Biology, too, which meant that his mind _really_ wanted to start thinking about the ecological disaster that the earthquake had caused, and what could be done to save the marine life in the area.  But—these days he wasn’t a scientist, now, was he?  And that was the problem.

“Me, too,” Kristin replied.  “I mean, it’s not that we’re short on people—the UEO is _still_ pouring resources into this, and our budget is in the billions—but it would be nice to have someone to talk to that isn’t two time zones away.”

Nathan smiled wistfully.  “Tell me about it.”

“How’s your ‘project’ going, anyway, Nathan?” she asked after a moment.  Technically, Kristin wasn’t supposed to know about _seaQuest_ , but she’d been involved in the earliest stages of the boat’s planning, back when Nathan had still cherished hopes that they might build her as a research and peacekeeping vessel again.

“Oh, the usual.  We’re actually ahead of the production schedule by about a week, though I don’t expect that to last long.”

“Does it ever?” Kristin smiled.  “What was that you told me about planning?”

“That it prevents piss poor performance?” Nathan asked innocently, finally sitting up and swinging his legs out of bed.  He’d be late if he didn’t start moving soon—

“Watch your language,” she snapped, feigning annoyance.  _As usual_.  But Kristin continued, “Actually, though, I was thinking about the one you told me about the enemy…”

“Ah.  You mean the first law of battle: no plan survives first contact with the enemy.”

She chuckled.  “That’s the one.”

Nathan could only grin.

* * *

2 December 2023

Lucas slid into the seat at the conference room table, shuffling through his stack of papers while he waited for the other officers to arrive.  Part of him was still angry at the captain, but two weeks was a long time for him to cool his heels, and being angry never fixed anything. 

He had barely seen the small apartment the Navy furnished him with since he had reported to _seaQuest_ a month ago.  He’d spent most of his time on the boat, trying to straighten out the computer systems and prove to the captain that he wasn’t just a freeloader.  And then the captain had taken him to task for missing a couple of meetings.

But Lucas wasn’t the type to run away from a problem or break down in tears just because the captain had yelled at him.  After all, it certainly wasn’t the first time—he’d never really gotten himself on the captain’s bad side before, but Lucas had ticked him off once or twice in the past.  What bothered Lucas more was that Bridger had treated him like he was still sixteen.  So he’d taken it upon himself to prove that he _could_ do everything the captain expected of him.  Even if it meant attending boring meetings on little sleep.

He’d even made a point of showing up early to the meetings.  Surprisingly, he had found it was nice to be able to spend a few minutes catching up with his fellow officers before the meeting started.  He didn’t usually get to see some of them that often, what with everyone trying to meet various deadlines, and being able to grab a cup of coffee or a soda while just chitchatting was _nice_.  Ben and Tim had been a lot friendlier since he’d started showing up, too, and it seemed like their old friendships were starting to return.  Even if the environment was different, _seaQuest_ was starting to feel like _seaQuest…_ which for Lucas, meant the boat was starting to feel like home again.

Today seemed like it was going to be a bad day, though, when Chris Schafer was the first person to join Lucas.  He hadn’t been avoiding his former student, precisely, but he had certainly avoided being alone with him.

“Nice of you to join us, Wolenczak,” Schafer said, sitting down across from Lucas.  He bit back the urge to sigh.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he greeted instead.  He’d been doing his best with military courtesies, even if he felt some people didn’t deserve them.  Fortunately, he was starting to learn that officers like Ben and Tim only insisted on them when they were doing official things, and not in private conversation, where they were much more relaxed.  Using the rank on Schafer, however, was Lucas’ subtle way of telling the Communications Officer what he thought of him—they were only one rank apart in seniority, and that meant they should have been on much more friendly terms.

Should have.  Schafer’s own attitude clearly was preventing _that_ from happening.  The other officer smirked.

“You know, they don’t hand out bonus points for showing up early.  And even if they did, you’re so far in the negative for all those meetings you missed that it won’t make a difference.” Obviously, Schafer was taking advantage of the fact that they had at least two more minutes before anyone else was likely to show up and he had time to gloat in private.

“What’s your problem with me?” Lucas snapped.  He just wasn’t in the mood to play stupid games this morning—he had too much to do, and Schafer had just ruined his good mood.

“My problem with you? You stole my job,” Schafer accused.

“I didn’t steal your job, _sir_.  You were shifted to communications, because Captain Bridger wanted only the best people in each position.  You and I both know you wouldn’t have been able to hack it as EWO.  Especially not in combat situations,” Lucas replied.

“Oh, because you know _so_ much about combat situations.  You’ve been in the Navy for what, six months?” Schafer asked.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I served on the first _seaQuest_.  And maybe we were primarily a science vessel, but we were also a _peacekeeping_ vessel, which meant sometimes we were getting shot at.  I know what it’s like to work under that sort of pressure, and I know you wouldn’t have been able to keep up,” Lucas said.

“Oh yes, you’re just the captain’s little golden boy, swooping in to save the day again.” Lucas blinked, resisting the urge to laugh at how ridiculous the senior officer sounded.

“Why can’t you just accept the fact that you’re good at communications? You’re still on _seaQuest_ , so what’s the matter?” Lucas asked.

“Some of us had to bust our asses to get here.  You decided you wanted to be on _seaQuest_ again, so you joined the Navy and got some strings pulled.  You haven’t earned that rank you’re wearing, and you certainly don’t deserve to be a department head,” Schafer sneered.  “I’m just glad I’ll have a front row seat when you fail.  It should be a great show.”

The hatch opened, and Lucas didn’t have a chance to reply before Commander Hitchcock entered the wardroom, stopping short as she saw the angry looks Lucas was exchanging with Schafer.  One brown eyebrow arched.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” she asked mildly.

“Just a little difference of opinion, ma’am,” Lucas said before Schafer could open his mouth and start throwing more accusations around.  As amusing as it would have been to see Hitchcock shoot Schafer down, Lucas knew he would have to keep working with him.

The XO didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she took her seat at the head of the table, waiting until the other department heads finally arrived before starting the meeting.  And if she noticed the heated looks between Lucas and Schafer, she didn’t comment.

Lucas was relieved that she was going to let him handle his own problems. _At least someone around here still thinks I’m capable…_

* * *

6 December 2023

Tony’s feet already hurt from standing.  Of course, listening to the captain blather on was always better than doing _real_ work under the slave driver Chief Shan.  But if Tony had it his way, he’d be in his bunk with one of his magazines, not stuck in formation like some show dog on display.

Parades were one of the worst parts of being in the Navy, but at least they were rare, and this wasn’t exactly a parade so much as a glorified opportunity to let the Captain show off how important he felt.  At least it should be shorter than a parade, anyway.  _An’ you can’t complain too loud, Tony.  You’re the one who decided to stay in after your parole was up with your tour on_ Walrus.  _Could’a gone back to Aunt Rose’s._   And done practically nothing with himself, which might have been nice.

He’d had this argument with himself lots of times, and whether he had won or lost by sticking around, he could never quite be sure.  _Think I might’ve lost this time, though.  I still don’t see what’s so special about this boat.  One sub’s just the same as any other, right?_

“Attention on deck!” Master Chief Crocker bellowed, and Tony reluctantly snapped to attention.  A few moments later, the Captain appeared behind the podium.

“At ease, folks,” he said first, and Tony shifted to a more casual pose, hands loose behind his back.  _At least he ain’t bein’ a dick about this,_ he thought.  He looked up towards where the captain was standing off to his left.  He hadn’t had a chance to meet the infamous Captain Bridger up close yet, having only checked in that morning while the captain was busy with Admiral Noyce.  _Not bad lookin’ for an old guy.  Probably still gets all the ladies, too._

“I’ve never been big on making speeches, or on making people stand around and wait for me, so I’ll keep this short.”

He snorted, earning him a hard glare from Chief Shan.  _Short, my ass.  That’s what they all say, and then they start waxin’ poetic about all their past glories.  We’ll be here ‘til dinner at this rate._

“However, today marks the first time that this _seaQuest’s_ entire crew has been assembled.  Our manning is now complete, with a total crew of 209.  From this moment forward, _you_ are all _seaQuest_ , and whether she succeeds or fails is on our shoulders.  Personally, I’m aiming for success.

“You all know the situation.  I don’t have to tell you that war is brewing out in the Pacific, or that when it comes, _seaQuest_ will be in the thick of it.”

 _Yeah, you’re aimin’ for success because then you can take all the glory.  If this fails, it’s the fault of guys like me.  Us regular joes, the ones who are_ really _gonna be fighting this war you say is comin’, Captain._

“This boat has been one of the UEO’s best-kept secrets for two years, and I know some of you are wondering why.  But the answer to that is simple, and it’s one you’ve uncovered as you’ve walked around our boat.  Put simply, _seaQuest_ is the biggest, meanest, and most advanced warship in the world, and if Macronesia got wind of what we are building here, you can believe they would do everything within their power to stop her from being completed.”

 _Big stinkin’ deal.  The UEO don’t even know what it’s doing when it’s_ not _trying to keep secrets.  All you gotta do to keep someone from finding out about somethin’ is tell it to my detailer.  He loses track of_ everything.  _Man shoulda gone into Intel._

“But that won’t happen.  Not on our watch.  What _will_ happen is that we’ll get this ‘Overgrown Metal Squid’ into the water, and then we’ll get her into the fight.  You’re all here because you’re the best, and because of you, I expect _seaQuest_ to be the best.  So, I won’t waste our time with pretty speeches—instead, I’ll make you a promise.”

 _Overgrown squid, right.  What’s long and hard and full of seamen…,_ Tony thought, managing to keep his snort soft enough this time to go unnoticed.  _Hurry up with your promise, Captain, you’ve already wasted enough of my time!_

“If you do your best, I promise you’ll never regret being assigned to _seaQuest_.  But if you let this crew down, I’ll kick you off my boat so hard and so fast that you’ll be nursing your bruises for years to come, not to mention trying to remove the print of a size eight-and-a-half boot from your behind.”

Most of the crew laughed, and even Tony had to join in.  Still, he could not quite restrain his sarcastic side, thinking: _Yeah, nice joke, sir.  Now we all know what a regular guy you are.  I’ll be sure to be the first one lined up outside your door to be best pals with you._ But at least the captain was trying to make jokes, which was more than his last commander had done.  _An’ he don’t mind threatening the crew a bit.  Like my uncle always said, a little threat can go a long way.  Maybe it won’t be so bad here after all._

“On that friendly note, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll wrap things up.   Welcome aboard to all new _seaQuest_ hands, and welcome back to those of you who served on board the last boat.  I’m glad to have every one of you, and I know we won’t let _seaQuest_ down.”

“Attention on deck!” the COB called again, and Tony snapped back to attention as the captain departed.  Thankfully, however, the Master Chief felt no need to lecture the crew on whatever they were supposed to do next (unlike his last boat’s COB, Master Chief Watkins, who would babble about nothing all day _and_ make them stand at attention while he did it).  Instead, he dismissed them almost before the Captain was out of sight, leaving Tony to the tender mercies of Chief Shan.

He looked around for a quick escape from his glaring superior, but there was nowhere to go.  _This ain't gonna be pretty,_ he thought.  _First day on board and already getting yelled at.  Well done, Tony._

* * *

9 December 2023

Three days after the Captain’s Call, the bars and restaurants were still crowded with tourists who had come to Pearl Harbor for the annual memorial services, lingering until the weekend to see the sights.  But Ben had managed to find a table for the two of them at one of the places frequented mostly by locals and Navy types, and Lucas was enjoying the rare chance to relax.

He was exhausted, and probably should have been taking the opportunity to catch up on sleep, but spending time with his friend, now that they were back on better terms, seemed like the better choice.  _I’ll probably regret it in the morning though…Knowing Ben, we’ll end up in a drinking contest trying to impress some women before the night is through._

But the thought made Lucas smile, and he readily accepted the bottle of beer Ben brought back for him from the bar.

“So, I notice you’ve been making it to meetings on time,” Ben drawled, wearing a lazy grin.  “Is my sweetheart of an ex that intimidating?”

"Do you really have to ask that question, Ben?" He grinned for a moment, and then let it fade.  "I don't think the captain's noticed though."

"Why not?"

"He's still angry at me.  We've barely even talked since he yelled at me," Lucas said, peeling at a corner of the label on his beer.

Ben snorted out a laugh.  “He barely ever talks to me—except when I have to go brief him on one supply SNAFU or another—and I don’t think he’s mad at me.”

Lucas had to take a long pull of his beer before he could respond.  "It's different with me and him.  You're just.... part of the crew."

“Oh, _ow._ That hurts, Lucas.” Ben feigned chest pain, dramatically clapping his hands over his heart before turning serious again.  “Yeah, I am, or at least compared to you.  But I still don’t think he’s mad at you, kid.”

He scowled.  "What would you know? He didn't even say anything when I finally worked out the kinks in the sonar package, just took off for Florida.  And I've only missed one meeting in the last month, and I told the commander about it ahead of time."

"You know where he was in Florida, don't you?" Now Ben was smirking, clearly relishing knowing some juicy piece of gossip.

"Aside from New Cape Quest, you mean?"

"Miguel told me.  You know he got dragged along, right?"

"Yeah, so? Have you got a point here, Ben, or are you just enjoying being a jerk?" Lucas asked, rolling his eyes.

The older officer smiled, not taking the jab personally.  He never did, after all, and just continued merrily:  “Actually, I do have a point.  This time.”  His eyes swept over the patrons around them, and he lowered his voice.  “Miguel told me that he got to brief the UEO _Command_ Strategy Board about the, um…thing that he found out about on _Atlantis_ , and that the captain had to go, too.  Thing is, while Miguel got kicked out after he briefed them, the captain had to stick around.  As a _member_ of that board.”

"He was gone for less than two days.  It's not like they were planning a war or something."

Ben just snorted, and gave Lucas a significant look.

Lucas gave him a skeptical one in return.  "Even if they _were_ , which I don't think they could do in such a short amount of time, he still hasn't been talking to me since then."

“You're not the only one who's been busy, you know.  Think of it this way: if _you're_ running around on four hours of sleep a night just trying to get the systems you own up and running, how much must it suck to be the guy who owns the entire boat?" Ben grimaced.  "I can't believe how reasonable I'm sounding.  I must be losing my touch.  Waitress!"

She approached quickly, and Ben ordered another beer.

"She's a sweetie," he told Lucas.  "I can introduce you two, if you like."

“I don't need your help hooking up with girls, Ben," Lucas said dryly.

"Could've fooled me, Mister-I-Forget-To-Go-Home-Some-Nights.  I promise you, staying in the office till nine or ten at night is no way to get a date.""

He rolled his eyes.  "Just because I'm not chasing anything with a pulse in a skirt doesn't mean I'm not getting any.  As you've so aptly pointed out though, I haven't exactly had the _time_.  Captain Bridger expects me to have everything at least mostly operational by the end of this month, and at the rate I'm going, I'll have to cut back to only two hours of sleep a night."

“You do know that you’ve got a department full of talented sailors who are going home at three o’clock every afternoon because they don’t have enough to do,” Ben pointed out with a sigh.

"They don't know the code like I do.  I wrote most of it, and now I need to figure out why it doesn't work.  It's just quicker this way," Lucas replied.

"Quicker for you to do it by yourself, or quicker for ten of them to attack it at once? You've got to delegate _something_ , Lucas, or you'll go crazy.  Take it from someone who knows.  My first tour—oh, it was a mess.  I drugged myself up on so much caffeine and No-Doze that I wound up having to have my stomach pumped.

“Besides," Ben continued before Lucas could get a word in edgewise, "You, me, and dang near everyone else who even _looks_ at the bridge on the underway watchbill have to start spending at least two hours a day in the simulator, every day—XO’s orders.  You aren't going to fit that in if you don't trust some of your people to get stuff done."

"The XO is already making me spend three hours in there every day.  That's why I haven't had time to do my regular work.  And there are some things I really _can't_ delegate."

“And there are some things you _can_.  I know you can't delegate everything, Lucas—that's why they pay us such princely salaries, after all—but you've got to give your guys a chance to do something.  They'll hate you for it, if you don't."

Lucas almosttold Ben that he was crazy, but he knew the other officer was right.  The sailors in his department _were_ top-notch…and he’d over heard more than one of them making a comment about how no one on the boat seemed to trust them.  He even understood how they felt, sort of.  _Except…_

He sighed.  "That doesn't change the fact that the captain's been ignoring everything I've been doing.  If I'm not even the one doing this stuff anymore..."

"Is that what you think?" Ben asked suddenly, comprehension dawning on his face.  "You think he hasn't been noticing it? Hell, Lucas—I'd give my right leg to get him out of my hair sometimes.  I'm _happy_ when he leaves me alone, because that means he's trusting me to get my job done without supervision."

Lucas wasn't sure if Ben was just trying to make him feel better.  He could understand the bit about the captain showing trust by not supervising him, but their relationship hadn't ever been like that.  "On the old _seaQuest_ , he was always checking up on what I'd been doing, ask about my results, why I was doing things the way I was…"

"Yeah, that's ‘cause you were a kid back then.  You're not, now."  His friend grinned.  "I think he realizes that."

"He didn't do it to treat me like a kid.  He did it to treat me like a _colleague_.  That's what scientists do, Ben."

"But not what Naval Officers do.  In our profession, staying out of people's hair is a big sign of trust, especially coming from the Captain.  It means he trusts you to come tell him if there's a problem," Ben explained.  "And he knows you, so he knows you will."

Ben's statement hurt, though it was clearly meant as a compliment.  Lucas wasn't entirely sure why it did.  He'd been in the Navy for months, and he was reminded every day of the fact that he was an officer now.  But hearing it put like that seemed different.  Maybe…maybe things were more different than he’d realized, and he was only making things worse for himself by being sensitive about it, even if he was only doing so within the confines of his own mind.

He sighed.  "Look, thanks for the beer, Ben, but I should probably be getting back to the Q.  I've got to go in early tomorrow."

"Yeah, me too.  We've got a bunch of galley equipment coming in, and I've got to be there to receive it and sign on every dotted line.  Oh, the fun times of being the Supply Officer! I get to do such exciting things."

"You wouldn't trade jobs for anything, and we both know it," Lucas replied, taking one last swig of his beer before standing up.

"Definitely not." Ben finished off his beer, too, and swung an arm around Lucas' shoulders as they walked out.  "Look at us.  Just like old times—except for the part about you being legal to drink, and all."  He grinned.  “That’s new.”

"Yeah, and you being _old_ ," Lucas teased.  But Ben was right, it did feel like old times, at least for the most part.  The thing with the captain was still going to eat at him, but for now he could pretend like nothing had changed.

They laughed together, and left the bar.  At least tomorrow was Sunday, which meant that Lucas really didn't have to be in _too_ early...but recently the entire crew had been working at least six days a week, and most of the officers had been in for at least a half day on Sundays, too.  It wasn't exactly fun, but at least Lucas felt like he was doing something useful—which sure beat babysitting Ph.D. students.


	9. The Rising Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the action commence! And next chapter has a special treat for you all, when Ben tries his hand at poetry. Be afraid, be very afraid! And just so you all know, we've finished writing Part 1, at just over 300 pages. And Part 2 is already shaping up nicely.

15 December 2023

 _Bored, now…_

Lucas checked the bottom corner of the screen for the tenth time in as many minutes, but the progress bar had barely moved.  His code was _still_ compiling.  Usually, he was more patient when it came to waiting for his programs, but it was Friday afternoon, and once he was done with this, he could leave for the day.  He was supposed to be meeting Ben and Miguel at a bar to enjoy a little bit of down time, and what with the way the production schedule had ramped up again, Lucas really needed the break.

While he waited, he logged on to the Internex on his mini comp, pulling up his customized newsfeed.  He tried to check it at least once a day, but he hadn’t had time yet today;  between the department head meeting that had lasted most of the morning, simulator training, and the code that was currently compiling, Lucas had barely found a moment to sit down, let alone look at a computer.

There weren’t many articles coming in from the civilian news sources he was subscribed to, but the feed from the military sources seemed to have exploded in a flurry of new messages.  _That’s odd.  I didn’t know about anything scheduled for today._   Of course, Lucas wasn’t _supposed_ to know about much more than _seaQuest’s_ building schedule, but he tended to peek into secure areas from time to time, just to keep in practice.  Besides, his security clearance _was_ still valid, so he wasn’t even breaking the law.  However, before he had the chance to check the headlines, a new message appeared in his inbox from one of the guys he’d gone to OCS with.  The video was just an image of the UEO logo, but the audio came through loud and clear.

“Hey Lucas, it’s Dan.  I’ve only got a second, but you’ve probably already seen the news reports, and I just wanted to give you a heads up.  Matty’s in the hospital—or what’s left of it at least.  Jake’s dead.  Abby and I are part of the walking wounded.  I’ll try and call you when I’ve got more time, but everything’s gone to Hell, and I’m lucky I even managed to get a call out right now.  I gotta go.”

The message ended abruptly, leaving Lucas confused—and wary.  Eyes wide, he went back to the newsfeed, selecting the first article and scanning the headline.

 **JOHNSON ATOLL ATTACKED.  EXTENSIVE CASUALTIES.**

He felt like someone punched him in the stomach, but he forced himself to read the rest of the report.

 _An unknown number of Macronesian warships launched a missile attack against the Johnson Atoll Forward Naval Station late this morning.  Four ships, including a civilian supply ship, are reported as destroyed.  No survivors have been found as of yet.  Military casualties are estimated in the thousands._

 _Several civilian businesses and housing developments outside the base were struck by SSN-45 Sub-to-Surface missiles, although whether or not these locations were intentionally targeted is unknown at this time.  At least three thousand civilians are missing and presumed dead, most families of service members working on the base.  Destruction of—_

He had to stop reading.  Dan’s message suddenly made a lot more sense, but now Lucas wished it didn’t.  He hadn’t been able to keep in touch with his fellow officers as much as he might have liked, not with the top secret nature of _seaQuest_ , but they had been friends during OCS.  _And now Jake’s dead._

The world swam in front of his eyes, and he had to force himself to breathe.  Everything was suddenly _cold_ , and Lucas felt an unexpected surge of hatred.  The Macronesians had killed his friend.  The attack on Johnston Atoll was yet another example of why he’d chosen to join the Navy, because someone needed to _stop_ those bastards before they destroyed the world they sought to rule.  But here he was, an officer in the Navy…and Lucas was still unable to do anything to help.

 _I’m sick of being helpless!_ he thought angrily, getting to his feet.  _The UEO needs to do something, instead of just ignoring the war that the Macronesians are busy winning!_

He headed towards the captain’s stateroom at barely less than a run, elbowing his way past confused sailors as he went.  If there hadn’t been an announcement over the 1MC yet, the captain probably didn’t know about the attack.  And even if they hadn’t really talked for weeks, someone had to tell him.

 _And it would be nice if I could talk to him about Jake._ Lucas squashed that thought as quickly as he could, swallowing hard.  _Stop being a baby.  He’s your CO, not your therapist._

 _Or your father._

He scowled at himself, coming to a stop in front of the hatch to the captain’s cabin.  It was open, as usual, so Lucas barely took the time to knock on the frame before he entered.

Bridger looked up, but if he was about to criticize Lucas' lacking military formalities, whatever he was about to say died on his lips when he saw the look on Lucas' face.  "What's wrong, Lucas?"

"Johnston Atoll Naval Station was attacked."

A moment passed in silence; Bridger’s eyes went slightly wide, and he sat back in his chair very slowly.  Finally, he spoke in a voice that sounded strangely normal to Lucas, his expression almost unchanged.

“Why don’t you close the hatch and sit down?”

Lucas just stared in disbelief, unable to move.  The captain wanted him to close the hatch and _sit down_? "Did you even hear what I just said, Captain? The base is practically _gone_."

“I heard you, Lucas.” Bridger got up and closed the hatch himself, only then adding: “Tell me everything you know.” He didn't sit down, though. The captain just leaned against the bulkhead, his eyes watching Lucas intently.

"The Macronesians attacked a couple of hours ago.  They're already estimating thousands of people—thousands of _civilians—_ to be dead." His throat closed up.

Bridger was silent for a long moment, before he spoke very quietly: “Shit.”

Lucas could count on one hand how many times he had heard the captain swear, but at the moment, it seemed very appropriate.

And very human.

"It hasn't hit the media yet.  I saw it on the military feed.  And..." He hesitated, not sure if the captain would care about Lucas' feelings.  But he needed _someone_ to talk to.  "And some of my friends from OCS were there.  I got a call..."

Bridger came over and put a hand on his shoulder.  "How many?" he asked softly.

"Four.  One of them..." He couldn't say it.  He hoped the captain would understand, but things had been so messed up between them lately, Lucas wasn't even sure they were speaking the same language half the time.

"I'm sorry," the captain's voice was compassionate, and reminded Lucas almost painfully of the past.  "I know there's not much anyone can say...but if you need anything, or even just to talk, let me know."

"I'm sick of just _talking_ , sir.  They didn't even have a chance to defend themselves!  The UEO keeps burying its head in the sand, and Macronesia strolls right into our waters and starts killing people!" Lucas said, practically shouting.  But he was too angry, too emotionally involved, to keep the words in check any longer. "Talking isn't working anymore!"

“Sit down, Lucas.” Gently, Bridger steered him into a chair, and sat down across from him at the table.  He took a deep breath before continuing: “I can’t say much to make this easier on you…and I can’t say that I disagree with you, either.  Talking _isn’t_ working, and won’t until someone stands up to Macronesia and stops them in their tracks.  Until now, the politicians have resisted doing that…all I can hope is that this tragedy will change that.  I know that won’t bring anyone back, but…”

As he trailed off, there were shadows in his expression that Lucas had not seen before.

"And if it doesn't change anything?  What then?" Lucas demanded sharply.  He was far too familiar with the political stupidity of the UEO, and he was _angry_ that they had been ignoring things as long as they had.

“Then we go out and—” Bridger never got a chance to answer before the vidlink started buzzing, and Lucas saw Admiral Noyce's name in the caller identification box.  Bridger grimaced.  "I've got to take this, Lucas."

"Right." Lucas stood to leave.  Once upon a time, he may have been allowed to stay, but now that he was a lieutenant, he wasn't privileged to conversations between the captain and his superior.

"Stay." The captain's hand on his arm stopped him before he could move away from the table, and he slapped the answer button before Lucas could object.

"What's up, Bill?" he asked, his voice strangely light.  It even fooled Lucas before he noticed the look in the captain's eyes.

Noyce started without preamble, seeming not even to notice Lucas.  “The forward base at Johnston Atoll has just been attacked, Nathan.  The Macronesians sent at least one hundred and fifty SSMs into the island and the surrounding areas, and UEO Command has just issued an official war warning to the fleet."

"What's the casualty count?" the captain asked.

"At least three thousand.  Probably more," the admiral said heavily.  Lucas' knees wobbled, and he landed heavily back in his seat, trying to digest the numbers.  _Three_ thousand _? That's worse than the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941._ "None of the confederations want war, Nathan...but I can't see anything preventing it, now.  McGath's on fire, and he’s demanding to know what the Navy can do to prevent another attack like this."

"I hope you told him that the answer is nothing if we continue _'peacetime'_ patrols," was Bridger's immediate answer, and Lucas was surprised how biting his tone was.

It occurred to Lucas that it wasn't exactly normal for Admiral Noyce to be calling Captain Bridger right now.  A few years ago he would have written it off to their friendship, but now he knew more about the way the Navy worked.  The admiral _had_ to be busy trying to deal with the situation, and the ranking officer in the entire _fleet_ had better things to do than to call a random captain, even a friend, in the middle of a crisis.  That, however, meant the admiral had to want something more from the captain.

"I've been authorized to deploy submarines near the border on wartime footing.  If a boat is Macronesian and even starts to _twitch_ in an aggressive manner, we're taking it out, war or no war." Noyce's face was no longer that of the jolly looking 'uncle' he'd always seemed to _seaQuest's_ crew; it was hard.  A vicious corner of Lucas’ mind was glad to see, that, too; he’d always liked the older man, but his fury was gratified to see that the admiral had a tough side, too.

Bridger's expression wasn't much different, and his voice was clipped.  "What do you need from me, Bill?"

"Two things.  One is simpler than the other—the Strategy Board meets again in three days.  I need you on a plane tomorrow night.  It looks like your pet operation may just get the green light, and soon."

 _Pet operation?_ Lucas thought, curious despite his anger.  But now wasn't the time to ask.

"And the second?" the captain prompted, making Noyce frown.

"How soon can you get that boat of yours in the water?" the admiral asked.  "I know I'm asking you to throw your production schedule in the grinder, but we need _seaQuest,_ and we need her fast.  Even if she's not at her best."

Immediately, Bridger's eyes flicked to the production board he kept in his stateroom, and Lucas saw his mind working fast.  He could also see that the captain wasn't happy about what he was about to say, but he didn't hesitate, either.  "End of the year."

"That soon?"

"You'll be paying a lot of overtime for the yard workers and my crew won't be getting any holiday leave, but we can do it.  Barely."

Noyce nodded.  "I'll see you in three days, then.  I'm heading out to Johnston in an hour, and my plane will pick you up on our way back around."

"Good luck, Bill." With those words, the captain's hard expression softened a bit.  "Try not to get yourself killed while you're out there, will you?"

"I'll try to keep that in mind," was the half-amused response, and the admiral cut the connection without another word.

Out of all the interesting things that had been said during that conversation, one inevitably stuck in Lucas’ mind.  There were only sixteen days left in December, and launching wasn’t actually scheduled until February fifth.  Lucas asked once the UEO logo filled the screen again: "Do you really think that we’ll be able to launch within the month, sir?"

Bridger sighed, suddenly looking old.  "I think it'll have to be, kiddo.  We don't exactly have a lot of options, what with the way the Macronesian Navy outnumbers us."

"You think _seaQuest_ will make enough of a difference?"

"She'd better, otherwise why am I working all of you so hard?" It sounded like Bridger was trying to insert some humor into the situation...and failing.

He tried not to scowl; the captain’s comment hit too close to the truth of Lucas’ recent feelings.  But he did manage a lopsided smile, though it felt more like a grimace.  "I was starting to think you just enjoyed watching us suffer."

"Well, it does have its up sides." This time, the captain's smile seemed a bit more natural.  He let a breath out.  "More seriously, though, Lucas...I was at the last Strategy Board meeting.  We're outnumbered by a factor of seven or eight to one, and that ratio is only going up, not down.  _seaQuest_ is about the only boat we have that can make a difference—and that's only if we can kill them a lot faster than they can kill us."

The captain's response startled him.  This wasn't the Nathan Bridger he remembered from his teenage years, the man who was so reluctant to take command of _seaQuest_ even when she was a science vessel.  But so much had changed since then, and Lucas shouldn't have expected the captain to stay the same, even if it would have been a reassuring constant.  _Heck,_ I _changed and joined the military.  Why can’t he?_   However, the captain still seemed able to read Lucas like a book.

"Wondering what's changed?" Bridger asked softly. 

"Yeah, a bit.  I know we talked a little, but...." But this was a man prepared to go to war.  And win.

“It’s a lot like what brought you into the Navy, actually,” the captain said.  “Do you remember Dalton Phillips?”

The non sequitur made Lucas blink.  "Yeah, he was the weapons officer on the last _seaQuest_.  What about him?"

"He was killed in one of the first engagements against Macronesia, not too long after _seaQuest's_ keel was laid.  That got me thinking...well, about a lot of things.  So I started redesigning _seaQuest_ to be a warship, not a peacekeeping vessel.  I knew I couldn't hide from what was going to come—or that I couldn't live with myself if I tried, anyway."

Bridger smiled wryly, and continued:

"I could have gone back to my island.  I could have sat the whole damned thing out, and no one would have said a word—but I can't do that while friends die.  And if I'm going to be here, I might as well make the biggest difference I can.  I used to be pretty good at this business, or so they tell me."

That finally managed to make Lucas smile, though it felt tight and unnatural with the news of the attack still hanging over both their heads.  Suddenly, his own feelings seemed a lot more…natural.  Still, he had to whisper: "I just wish the UEO hadn't waited so long."

“Me too, kiddo,” the captain said feelingly.  “But you can only play the hand you’re dealt, so for now, our job is to get this overgrown squid wet and ready to fight.  I hope you didn’t have Christmas plans, Lucas.”

Lucas gave the captain a dry look.  "I haven't heard from my father since the summer, and you and I haven't really been on speaking terms lately.  Of course, Ben offered to take me out, but I can only watch him get shot down by women so many times before I'd rather be anywhere else."

“Better you than me,” was the laughing response.  “I had enough trouble saving him from his last CO.”

Lucas laughed as well.  For a moment, at least, it felt just like old times.  He wished the circumstances that brought it about were different, wished that it hadn’t taken so much death to get to this point.  Most of all, he wished he could count on it to last, but if there was one thing he knew about war, it was that war could change everything.

* * *

Petty Officer Riley managed not to comment when Bridger told him to head towards an apartment located about twenty minutes’ drive from the base—one that was far nicer (and usually far neater) than his own.  Nathan saw the look his driver shot him, but chose not to comment.  He was too tired to put up with Riley’s joking today.

At least his conversation with Lucas had resolved some of the tension that had been building up between them.  Bridger _was_ glad for that, and he’d meant to talk to Lucas at least a hundred times before the young man had come to him, but something or another always got in the way.  He’d hardly had time to eat between all the meetings with contractors, equipment inspections, and paperwork required for readying a new warship for commissioning—not to mention the several hours a day he spent crafting or overseeing training scenarios for his crew.  Nathan had known that the entire process would be busy— _seaQuest_ was not the first boat he’d commissioned as CO—but the more they tried to rush things, the busier his day became.

Kristin had been back for over a week, and he’d only managed to call her once.  Worse, yet, he’d barely even _noticed_ that a week had passed, and Kristin had been too nice to call him on it.

Riley pulled the car up outside and threw Nathan an unreadable look.  “You want me to pick you up here in the morning, Captain?”

“Sure,” Nathan sighed.  It was a good thing Riley wasn’t on the crew, because if he had been, this would have been all over the boat by morning—and he really just didn’t want to deal with that right now.  Sooner or later, he’d have to, but at the moment, he simply had too many other irons in the fire to worry about this one.

His feet carried him to her door without much thought required, a good thing considering the gelatinous state of his mind.  Kristin opened the door almost before he’d had a chance to knock.

“You look like hell, Nathan,” she said immediately, her features softening.  “Come in.”

Two hours later, he was sprawled on her couch watching some strange reality show or another, and feeling vaguely human again.  Dinner had helped—Kristin was no gourmet, but she was a better cook than he was, and her meals were definitely better than the pizza, subs, and Chinese takeout he’d been living on for the last month or so. 

“Do you _ever_ wash these things?” Kristin asked, holding up his coveralls with a disgusted scowl on her face.

“I was doing torpedo tube inspections this morning.  Sorry,” he answered.  Nathan was wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that he’d left at her place God-knew-how-many-months ago, because if he’d dared sit down on anything in her apartment while so covered in grease, she would have killed him.

“Of course you are, Nathan.” She even managed not to roll her eyes at him.  Much.

But her exasperated look made him smile.  _She’s a hell of a woman, this one._ “Don’t look so surprised, Doctor.  You’ve seen me dirtier.”

“Dirty old man, more like.” She grinned back, though, before dumping the coveralls in the laundry, then returning to shove his feet off the couch.  “Budge over, you.”

He made room for her, but didn’t come out of his slouch.  All day, every day, he was used to being the Captain, and it was nice just to be _Nathan_ for a change.  No one was watching him, here.  No one was expecting him to have all the answers.  He could be tired, be cranky, or be just plain stupid, and it didn’t matter. 

Kristin shifted closer, putting her head on his shoulder.  “So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or do I have to ask?”

“What isn’t?” he asked wryly, and then shook his head.  “You heard about Johnston Atoll?”

“I think everyone has by now,” she answered seriously.  “They’re calling it the Pearl Harbor of the 21st Century.”

Much though he wanted to, Nathan couldn’t argue that assessment.  The death toll had risen to just over 10,000…with over six _thousand_ of those deaths civilians who lived near the base or in the waters surrounding it.  Three undersea communities had also been damaged, though most of the casualties had been on Johnston Atoll itself.  The naval base was still operational, but the damage had been nearly catastrophic, and they still didn’t have numbers on how many people were injured or trapped in the rubble.

“Yeah,” he said heavily, scraping a hand over his face.  “I’m not sure what you’re getting on the news, but UEO Command has already issued a war warning.”

Eyes widening, Kristin sat up straight.  “You’re serious?”

“Very.  Our schedule has been pushed up, too—we’re supposed to launch by the end of the year.”

“Can you do that?”

Nathan could only shrug.  “We’ll find out.”

 _I hope so,_ he didn’t say, mostly because he didn’t want to voice the thought, even to himself.  Kristin would understand—she might have been somewhat anti-military on the first _seaQuest_ , but that was more out of competition for the boat’s mission than true hatred for the armed services—but sometimes, Nathan still resisted returning to his old military mindset.  It was a comfortable enough state of mind…but there were times he really wished he could be a man of science again, and being with Kristin had a habit of reminding him of that.

Thinking of his boat, on the other hand, made the military man come out.  _We’ll be ready,_ Nathan promised himself.  _Because if we’re not, the UEO is screwed._

* * *

16 December 2023

The next afternoon, Katie found the captain alone in the newly-built 4800-class Navigation Simulator, using the voice-operated COVE 9 software to put a virtual _seaQuest_ through her paces.  The COVE, or Conning Officer Virtual Environment, allowed one individual to direct computer-simulated helmsmen and watch the boat react through a three-dimensional display.  Since they couldn’t drive _seaQuest_ yet—she still hadn’t even been float-tested—using such a system was the best way to figure out the sub’s maneuvering characteristics.  Still, Katie had not expected to find her CO there during lunch.  Not with the mad amount of preparations the crew was doing in order to get moved aboard the boat in two days, which meant eating, sleeping, and doing everything else aboard the still-dry _seaQuest_.

Still, Bridger was the boss, and sometimes she felt flattered that he trusted her enough to disappear for awhile. 

“Hey, Captain,” she said in a casual tone that would have shocked her not long before—but after being Nathan Bridger’s XO for almost a month, Katie found that she was extremely comfortable in the role, and with him.  Of course, he could be a hell of a taskmaster when he wanted to be, and she’d never worked this hard in her life, but no one could claim that the Captain didn’t put in as many hours as the rest of them.

“Morning, Katie,” he said distractedly, his eyes on the gyro-driven outline of _seaQuest_ as it twisted through a 360 degree turn.  He spoke in the microphone again.  “Rudder amidships.  Couple your jets.”

“Rudder amidships, aye, sir.  Couple my jets, aye sir,” the computerized voice replied.

“All engines ahead slow, make turns for eight knots.”  He released the mike button and looked her way.  “What’s up, XO?”

“Those…gentlemen from Suncross Limited are here about the berthing heaters,” she replied, trying not to grimace.  Meanwhile, the computer made its repeatbacks and reports without even noticing her discomfort.

“Is it lunchtime already?” Bridger was wearing his absentminded professor look again, the one that drove Katie insane.  Still, she managed not to roll her eyes.

“How long have you been in here?”

Bridger smiled, his eyes on the display again.  “All engines ahead flank,” he ordered, and the virtual _seaQuest_ leapt forward.  “About three hours, I think.”

“Did the software upgrade fix anything?”  Katie’s attention _should_ have been on the contractors who were waiting outside the classified space, but she couldn’t help it.  She was curious…and if they were launching in two weeks, they really needed this simulator up and running.  The tactical trainer for the new _seaQuest_ had been operating since the day after she’d reported, but the number of problems they had with the navigational trainer had only increased by the day.  Finally, the simulators’ creators had torn it down and started all over again, an effort that had culminated the day before with the trainer Bridger was using now.

“Seems to have.  We won’t know until we get the real boat moving, but the maneuvering characteristics make sense, now,” the captain replied thoughtfully.  “She moves pretty well, too.  Better than the last boat, actually.”

Katie snickered, and the engineer in her answered: “I should hope so.  She’s the most ridiculously overpowered submarine ever built.  Whatever possessed you to design her with _two_ Twin Fusion reactors?”

“My original design for the first boat had two, also,” was the grinning reply.  The simulated boat’s speed had passed 160 knots—the top speed of the last _seaQuest_ —and kept increasing.  “The second one got cut after I left the program.  Toe your jets in thirty degrees.  Port engine back full, starboard engine ahead full.”

The last was to the computer, and it repeated the commands back before adding in a snotty voice: “Approaching water jet cavitation limits.”

Katie’s eyes flicked to the engineering display; for a boat that had been slammed into a 360 degree twist from 170 knots of ahead speed, the amount of cavitation was actually pretty low.  _I hope the real boat is this sturdy!  She’s going to have to be, if the captain plans to drive her like he’s a crazy teenager._

“May I ask why, sir?” she asked after a moment.  Katie could see why Bridger spent so long down here—watching the response times was _fascinating._

“Because she’s supposed to be ridiculously overpowered, Commander,” her boss replied, still smiling.  He waited until the virtual sub had turned 180 degrees before ordering: “Rudder amidships, couple your jets.  All engines ahead flank.”

The entire turn had taken about a minute—faster than Katie knew any submarine could twist, even underwater.  Submarines were _always_ more maneuverable under the surface than on it, but this was truly impressive.  Bridger continued:

“The last boat was big and fast, but she turned like an aircraft carrier.  She was quick enough to come around at speed, but her turning radius was a nightmare, if you recall.”

“Yeah,” she said wryly, remembering how long it had taken her to learn to drive the first _seaQuest_.  “Jonathan used to call her the flying pig.”

Bridger snorted out a laugh.  “That’s a good name.  All stop.”

“All engines stop, aye, sir,” the snotty little voice replied.  _Couldn’t they have given the computer a more pleasant voice?_ Then reality kicked in.  _Who am I kidding? This was probably the cheapest option available. They’ve been using it since before I got to the Academy, anyway._

“So, to answer your question, Katie, for a boat this size, power means maneuverability.  That wouldn’t necessarily be true if we had conventional screws, but with the new Wärtsilä water jets, more power only means more turning capability.”  He put the microphone down and clicked a few keys, halting the simulation.  “Have you ever served on a waterjet boat before?”

“No,” Katie shook her head.  “It’s not really something they’ve tried with submarines before—or at least not the 720 degree reversible waterjets—is it?”

“Not at all.  The jets we used on the first boat were revolutionary enough for the time she was designed—and quiet as hell, at least compared to screw noises.  But they were stationary and required a rudder for steering, which made maneuvering interesting.  You remember what using a full rudder at high speeds used to do to her, I’m sure.”

Oh, Katie remembered.  Using too much rudder at high speeds meant that the enormous amount of water coming out of the jets pushed _hard_ on the rudder, hard enough to break it in the original _seaQuest’s_ first set of sea trials.  In theory, she understood how the new system worked; the jets could train up to 180 degrees both horizontally and vertically, and there was a bucket that dropped to reverse the flow of water and cause the equivalent of another 180 degrees’ worth of rotation each way.  From what Katie had read, using jets like this allowed for much quicker maneuvering than a rudder, because the rudder operated based upon the high/low pressure of water coming off of a propeller, whereas a waterjet simply provided its own steering.

Bridger continued with the impromptu lesson.  “The first actual Navy ships to use 360 degree reversible waterjets were the _Freedom-_ class littoral combat ships in 2009, although most surface ships haven’t adopted them because driving with them requires a significant investment in training.  And we’re definitely the first submarine to sport them, though I suspect we won’t be the last.”

“What’s the catch, sir?”  The engineer in her insisted that there was _always_ a catch.

“They’re hard as hell to break, but if you suck something solid enough through the intake, the entire impeller is toast, and you have to drydock to fix it,” the captain replied.  “And the hydraulic systems on them can be an engineer’s worst nightmare, though the Wärtsiläs are pretty reliable.”

“Sucking something in sounds really…pleasant.”

“The Wärtsilä guys claim that the impellers will chew up a steel step ladder—and I did watch a demonstration where our jets ate an aluminum one in testing, so I’m inclined to believe that anything softer than that won’t be a problem.  All the same, it could get interesting.”

“You’re such an optimist, sir,” Katie teased him.

Bridger laughed.  “Just wait until you hear what Brad thinks of these things,” he said, then stepped away from the simulator.  “Now, show me to the contractors—I have a feeling they need a kick in the ass before I get on a plane to Florida tonight.”

* * *

18 December 2023

“Damn it, Ben, for _once_ in your life, could you _not_ make my life more difficult?” Katie asked angrily, approaching him.  Ben winced, but forced a smile onto his face.  Quickly, he handed off the manifest he’d been verifying to his leading chief petty officer, Chief Bickle—there was no way he was going to manage to argue with the XO and do his job at the same time.

“I assure you, Commander, making your life more difficult was not my intention.  Now what seems to be the problem?” he asked in return, trying military courtesy and politeness on for size. 

“When you told me that the mattresses for enlisted berthing would be delivered in time, that didn’t mean having them delivered at the same time everyone was moving aboard!” Katie looked ready to strangle someone, and Ben supposed it was for the best that it would be him and not some hapless seaman who happened to cross her path when she was in one of her moods.

Then again, Ben couldn't really _blame_ the XO for stressing over this evolution.  Moving an entire crew on board a submarine was a nightmare for everyone, and Katie's job was undoubtedly the hardest, because she was responsible for _everything_.  That was especially true because the Captain had been called to New Cape Quest for another meeting, which left Katie to manage the problem.  Ben and Tim were doing their best to help, but they each had their own huge areas of responsibilities to deal with.

Speaking for himself, Ben hadn't slept in over 30 hours, and didn't anticipate doing so again until the 19th.  By then, he'd probably be a babbling mess of idiocy, but for the moment, he had entirely too much work to do.  _Will she yell at me if I offer to give one of the enlisted guys my mattress? It's not like I'll be using it any time soon_ , he thought tiredly.

"Look, Katie, they weren't originally scheduled to be delivered until next week.  I've been trying to get them here as soon as possible," Ben replied, trying and failing to keep his voice level.  "They'll be installed by taps tonight, anyway, and that's what really matters, right?”

She gave him The Glare.  "That's hardly the point.  What other responsibilities of yours are running behind schedule?"

"Oh, I don't know, _all_ of them.  I was supposed to have two more weeks to get all of these supplies delivered.  You're not the only one who's overworked right now, Katie," Ben snapped in response.  He usually tried not to fight with her, especially in front of the crew, but he wasn't in the mood to play punching bag.

"I'm not _Katie_ to you, Lieutenant Commander.  I'm the XO of this boat, and you'd do well to remember that from time to time!" she retorted angrily.  "Now, what is this I hear about the laundry machines having been installed backwards? Is this another one of your jokes, or is it an actual problem?"

Ben had to clamp down on his anger hard and fast.  _Just because she's blaming you for things that aren't really your fault doesn't mean you're still married to her, Ben._ Even if it did feel familiar.  "I don't exactly have time for practical jokes right now, _ma'am_."

Thankfully, she ignored the sarcasm, because Katie _did_ have a point, much though Ben was loathe to admit it.  Instead, she continued pointedly:  "So, do you have a plan to _fix_ the problem, Suppo, or are you just going to hope it takes care of itself?"

"Well, gee, XO, I really thought they were going to just pick themselves up and turn themselves around.  But now that you mention it, I guess I should get a couple of guys from engineering to help them out, shouldn't I?" Ben replied heatedly.  He knew it was asking for trouble, but exhaustion got the best of his common sense, and Ben had slipped right back into the habit of meeting her irrational anger with sarcasm.

Tim approached before Katie could reply.  Clearly, he’d heard their argument and really didn’t want to get in the middle of it—but shy though he was, Tim O’Neill wasn’t one to slack off his duties just because they were unpleasant.  And he was always one to look out for a friend, or two of them, when required.  “Uh, Commander, I’ve got some updates for you.”

Katie shot Ben one last ugly look before turning to face the Operations Officer.  “Hit me with it,” she ordered.

“Well, Lucas figured out what was wrong with the cipher locks on the officers’ staterooms—it seems like some shipyard worker thought it would be funny to keep trying random combinations until the stupid things locked out everything except the factory resets.  Lieutenant Chin also wants you to know that the base armory _did_ finally fork over all of our small arms. We’re still short on ammo, but we’ve got enough for the security watches.”

He checked a scribbled list before adding, “The air filtration systems are up and running, though we won’t know for sure how well they work until we’re off of shore power.  Cheng says that he’s ready to test Number Two Generator whenever you’re ready, too.  They got the filters in this morning, though Brad says that he's not quite sure how anyone finagled the supply system to deliver them so fast.”

How Tim had wound up being everyone else's messenger boy was beyond Ben, but he was grateful for the interruption—it had kept him and Katie from going off the deep end, which was probably a good thing, at least where his career was concerned.  Besides, Tim had been nice enough to throw in a compliment for their friendly neighborhood Supply Officer at the end, which meant that Ben owed him a beer.

 _At least one.  Probably two beers, especially if he keeps talking._

Her anger seemed to deflate a bit, though the look she gave him following Tim's compliment was far from friendly.  "Thanks, Tim," she said, sounding a lot more calm and a whole lot more _tired_ than she had just a few minutes ago.  "I'll go find Cheng and see about that Number Two Generator.  Can you see about doing something to coordinate the mattresses being brought on board with when the crew is coming on?"

“I figure we could just have everyone haul their own mattress on board with their gear,” Tim shrugged.  “I hauled mine in this morning—the officers’ mattresses are in a mislabeled crate down at the wrong end of the pier,” he added helpfully, looking Ben’s way.  “I found it when I went for a run at five this morning.”

Ben wanted to ask Tim when he had found the time for a run, but with Katie still standing next to them, he didn't dare take that risk.  "I'll go see about getting it where it's supposed to be," he said, looking for any excuse to leave that he could.

“Oh, I also got a call from Miguel—he took the launch out into the bay to do some WSKR testing, and he says that all but one of them is performing within standards.  The delinquent one is probably going to have to be returned to the builder, though.  Its navigation systems and sonar systems are hosed up.”

“Any more good news?” Ben could hear the grimace in her voice, and he paused to listen.  They’d _all_ been working their brains out for the last three days, trying to get everything done, and it just seemed like the list of things to do kept growing.

“Well, the soda machines were delivered empty.  Lucas found that out when he tried to get some Mountain Dew, earlier.” Tim shot Ben an apologetic look, but it didn’t change the fact that he was now down to _one_ beer.  “And apparently no one thought to ship-check the gym equipment.  It’s _all_ noisy as hell, but Master Chief Crocker is taking care of that one.  He was still yelling at the contractors when I left.”

 _Looks like I won't be sleeping until the 20th,_ he thought wearily, making a mental note to beat someone upside the head about the vending machines.

Fortunately, Katie didn't even bother to yell at him again—moments later, she got a call from the Chief Engineer about some _other_ system being cranky, and headed down to talk to him about whatever it was.

"Thanks for the save, Tim," Ben said, not bothering to wait for a reply before heading to his cabin.  If the coffee machines were still on the fritz and the soda machines were empty, he'd have to rely on the small stash of caffeine pills he kept there to make it through the rest of this hellish process.

* * *

Still jetlagged beyond belief, they were sitting in Bill’s office with a pair of sodas—anything stronger and both thought that they might pass out.  Nathan’s confused stomach didn’t even want to contemplate the plate of sandwiches Bill’s aide had helpfully delivered, and looking at them just made him want to go to sleep.

“The food was a lot better last time,” he complained lightly.  “I don’t think this morning’s Danishes did anything to agree with my stomach.”

“I think it was that trash the Air Force served on the plane,” Bill replied, making a face.  “Either that, or it’s the fact that I can’t count how many time zones I’ve been in over the last four days.  Or is it three days?”

“I think it’s three, Bill.”

The admiral waved a hand wearily.  “Semantics.”

“You do know you pulled me away from my crew moving aboard the boat today, don’t you?” Nathan griped for about the eighteenth time. 

Bill snorted, and said the same thing he had every other time.  “You’ve got a good XO, don’t you?  Right now, your time is better spent looking at the big picture strategically, not doing administrative bullshit, no matter how necessary it is.”

“Shut up.”  Nathan was too tired to have this argument again.  Apparently, Bill was, too, because he changed the subject.

“I think the meeting went pretty well, at least.  Even Frank Thomas didn’t have much to complain about.”  Noyce laughed without showing much actual amusement.  “I think he likes you, Nathan.”

“You mean that he’s forgotten about me blatantly defying his orders about hunting down Max Scully.”

“Oh, that’s old news.  It’s a new world, now.” _And not a better one,_ neither of them added.

“So ask him to send me a Christmas present of about two million dollars,” he replied, rolling his eyes.  “That’s what it’s going to take to keep pushing the schedule like this, you know.  Maybe more.”

“I’ll find it somewhere.  You just worry about getting that boat launched and ready.”

“Launched is a long way from Plan Calcimine, Bill,” Nathan felt obligated to point out, and then shook his head tiredly.  “Or whatever we’re calling it now.”

“Operation Wildwood.  Has a better ring to it.  Calcimine sounds like some sort of toothpaste.”

He shrugged.  “Right.  My point stands, though.  We’re doing an awful lot of planning that revolves around a boat that hasn’t even gone through sea trials yet.  What are you going to do if you need Calc— _Wildwood_ —before _seaQuest_ is ready?”

“Pull you off her and send you out on another boat,” was the immediate response.

“I’m trying to be serious here.” Nathan glared.

“So’m I.  Sort of, anyway,” his friend replied.  “Look, Nathan, you and I both know that you’re the _only_ active duty captain we have who has ever done independent operations like Wildwood in wartime.  Hell, we don’t even have any _admirals_ who have—precious few of the boats we sent out in the Aegean Campaign came back, and everyone else either retired or got themselves killed in some other conflict along the way.  You’re the subject matter expert on this, so frankly, I’m not sending someone else out for this job.  You’re it.”  The admiral gave him a significant look.  “Why do you think I was so set on having you at these meetings, anyway?”

Nathan scowled.  “I’m just a captain, Bill.  And I _like_ being a captain.”

“Don’t you think I know that? If I thought I could pry you off that boat of yours, I’d have slapped stars on your collar a long time go.”

Glaring at Bill didn’t seem to make him change his mind, but Nathan already knew that _yelling_ at him wouldn’t, so he was left with no better option than giving his friend the dirtiest look he could manage.  Besides, he was tired, and shouting consumed energy he didn’t have.  And there wasn’t even time for a nap before his flight out left in two hours—he and Bill still had to refine a few pieces of Operation Wildwood, because Nathan knew he’d be too busy to do it any other time.  He was flying on another military flight, which had the advantage of being nonstop (they’d refuel in air so that they didn’t have to), but Nathan also had work to do on the plane, which meant he wouldn’t be napping there, either.

He started trying to count the number of hours he’d gone without sleep, and then stopped himself when nothing added up properly.  He was too damn tired for this, but Nathan _was_ a big believer in the old saying about how proper planning prevented piss poor performance, so that meant he’d keep working.

Besides, he could sleep when he got home.  The flight was getting in sometime in the evening—he thought—so, at least he’d eventually wind up in his own bed.


	10. Deck the Hull with Blood and Glory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting. We've had a busy two weeks. But this chapter features one of my most favorite scenes! I do apologize for the cracktastic nature of it. The poem came to me at about 2 AM and I couldn't sleep until I wrote it all down. The chapter title is all Robin's fault, I just giggled and agreed with it.

22 December 2023

Jonathan poked listlessly at the tray of food his XO had put in front of him after dragging him to the wardroom.  Taking the time to sit down and eat was a luxury he hadn’t been able to afford in the last week, as _Atlantis_ and _Scorpion_ had been busy coordinating the rescue and relief efforts at what remained of JANS. 

The UEO just didn’t have the resources right now to divert more aid, so they had been playing double duty as well.  While one boat was patrolling, the other worked with small escape subs from other nearby underwater colonies to evacuate survivors from the communities sprawled under the water near the naval station.  Johnston Atoll just wasn’t that big of a piece of real estate, which meant a good portion of its workers lived underwater—but their habitats were shallow enough that they’d been victims of the missile attack as well, which meant most survivors were trapped in small air pockets amid the wreckage.  Most had run out of time and air by now, but every few hours, the mini-subs found someone, which kept the rescuers hoping.

But he had just gotten off a call with Commodore Allan before Commander Windsor had interrupted him, and hearing from him that the UEO _still_ hadn’t declared war had made Jonathan lose his appetite.

"You all right, boss?" his XO asked quietly.  Mark Windsor was a new XO—he hadn't been with Jonathan on _SeaWolf_ , but he and Jonathan had seemed to click almost right away.  Their relationship was already more relaxed than the one Ford had shared with his old XO—it almost reminded him of himself and Nathan Bridger, sometimes.

And if Jonathan hadn't turned out so bad, he didn't mind adopting some of Bridger's leadership style, which meant trusting his XO.  "Not really, Mark."

"I'm guessing the Commodore had nothing but good news to share, then."

He scowled, running through the list of foul names for the UEO Command board in his head before he finally allowed himself to speak.  "The UEO is still debating whether or not to declare war."

"After something like ten thousand dead?" Mark gaped.

"They don't think it would be _politically beneficial_ to drag the UEO into a war while we're still trying to recover from the Great Earthquake," Jonathan replied, unable to keep the bitterness from twisting his voice.

“What?" Judging from Mark's tone, he agreed with Jonathan's feelings.  "Because letting Macronesia beat up on us _is_ politically beneficial?"

“There's a reason I'm a sailor and not a politician.  It's times like this that I _almost_ wish Andrea Dre was still the secretary general.  At least she would have been decisive."

"Not to mention crazy," his XO replied drolly.  "Though that _could_ be a plus at the moment.  Possibly."

"You don't need to remind me about that part," Jonathan said.  He blew out a long sigh.  "Apparently none of the confederations want this to be _their_ problem.  But they don't stop to think the Macronesians are practically on Pearl's doorstep, if they can attack here.  Not to mention how close to Nexus this place is."

"At least they didn't take the base," the other officer pointed out.  "Then we'd really be screwed, without any bases between the border and Pearl."

"We're going to be screwed one way or another, if the UEO doesn't make a decision.  _Soon_.  Because the only thing left to hit between here and Pearl is civilian colonies, and a couple of subs just can't keep up with the entire Macronesian fleet," Jonathan said, venting his anger.

"Yes, sir." But like a loyal XO, he tried to spin things in a way to make his captain happier.  "On the bright side, I saw a news clip that the UEO has authorized another three _Valiant_ class subs to be built, at least.  And they'll build them all concurrently, so we should see them within a year or so.  Maybe less."

 _If we live that long._ He stopped himself from speaking his mind.  As the captain, he couldn't let his pessimism show.  The crew was counting on him to get them through this, and if he acted as if they wouldn't, no one would be willing to take the chances that could possibly save them.  "I guess we'll just have to count our blessings for what they're worth."

"Small though they are," Mark replied with a wan smile.

Jonathan returned it, finally taking a bite of his food.  He grimaced down at it.  "Though apparently dinner isn't one of them."

“I was wondering if you’d notice that one, Captain.  We offloaded so many supplies to JANS that the cooks are really scraping the bottom of the barrel.  When I talked to the SUBRON staff, they said they’d have a supply ship out here next week, so we’re not going to starve…but I don’t think you’re going to get any of Chief Perry’s gourmet lasagna, either.  We're even out of tomato sauce.”

He sighed, liberally applying salt and pepper to the food in front of him.  "Great.  As long as he doesn't try and substitute ketchup, we'll find a way to get by, I guess."

"I think the Chief would consider that a crime, sir.  He _does_ actually know how to cook, unlike most of the guys the Bureau of Personnel sent us," Mark pointed out.

"If he can make something edible with what's left of our supplies, I'll put him in for a commendation myself," Jonathan joked.

Mark chuckled, and they both set to the arduous task of getting through their unpalatable dinner.

* * *

25 December 2023

Lonnie had been planning on going home during leave, and the change in schedule hit her hard.  The last time she had been there felt like a lifetime ago, back before she’d headed out to OCS, and from there straight to submarine school and _Torsk_.  She’d been too busy to feel homesick in the intervening months, but so much had happened since then, so much had changed.  The world was at war again, even if the UEO wasn’t admitting to it.  And her parents hadn’t stopped fretting since _Torsk_ had been sunk.  Every time she talked to them, they asked when she was coming home, when they could see her—and the fact that Lonnie couldn’t tell them what she was doing now only made things worse.  She’d really been looking forward to the opportunity to reassure them that she _was_ fine…but now she couldn’t. 

But leave had been canceled because of Macronesia’s latest atrocity.  Scuttlebutt said that the captain had promised Admiral Noyce that _seaQuest_ would be ready to launch by the end of the year, though no one on the crew was quite sure what in the world would prompt him to do _that_.  With six days left, Lonnie wasn’t sure they would meet that deadline.

They probably should have been working—or maybe sleeping—but Commander Hitchcock had pulled Lonnie aside around noon the day before, and the two of them had gone to the base commissary on a mission to acquire Christmas dinner for the wardroom since the Navy’s supply system was too focused on resupplying JANS to give _seaQuest_ anything over the bare minimum required.  Watching her XO practically shouting at the poor stock boy had been a sight to see, but they’d finally come away with enough food for a veritable feast without scaring any of the commissary workers too badly.

Lonnie liked the XO.  She hadn’t really, not back when they had been on _Torsk_ together.  _Just admit it Lonnie, Commander Hitchcock can be a real witch when she wants to be._ But in the last three months, the commander had taken Lonnie under her wing, and she couldn’t have been more grateful.

 _And here on_ seaQuest _, the Navy doesn’t even seem like such a bad place to be any more.  Captain Bridger asks a lot of us, but he gives more back than Captain Hudson did._

As if to prove her point, the captain stood up, and attention was almost instantly given to him.  “I’d like to thank you all for the hard work and dedication you’ve shown in the last ten days.  I know most of you had plans during leave, and I didn’t like having to ask you to give them up.  But you’ve all shown once again the caliber of officer we have on board this boat, and I couldn’t be more proud of you all.  Merry Christmas, everyone.”

“Hear, hear!” Lieutenant Commander Krieg said, banging his cup down on the wardroom table.  Lonnie could see the XO roll her eyes.  By now, everyone on board knew that they had been married once, but Lonnie still couldn’t picture her mostly straight-laced XO romantically involved with the goofy supply officer.

 _Though he’s not at all bad looking even if he_ is _ten years older than me_ , she thought, watching appreciatively as the commander made a joke at Lieutenant Commander O’Neill’s expense.  _And he’s got a good sense of humor._

She sighed, turning her attention back to her food.  _Except who is he to notice someone like me? I’m just an ensign, and he’s a lieutenant commander._ She knew it was a silly schoolgirl crush, but that didn’t make it any easier on her.  She just hoped that Krieg wouldn’t notice, and if he did, that he would pretend he didn’t.

* * *

Lucas was privately glad that holiday leave had been canceled.  He wished the circumstances had been different, but unlike some of his fellow crewmembers, he wouldn’t have had anywhere to go.  _seaQuest_ was home, and his fellow officers in the wardroom were his family.  And with everyone in good spirits, he could almost pretend that they weren’t getting ready to fight a war.  Almost.

“Excuse me, Ladies and Gentlemen.”  Ben stood up towards the end of the meal, rapping a spoon against his glass to gain everyone’s attention.  Watching him made Lucas smile; he was glad his friend was feeling better.  Ben had crashed hard after everyone had finally managed to move aboard, winding up sick enough to make even the XO worried.  None of them had realized until after the job was done how much work Ben had put in, or how little sleep he had been getting in the process.

But he had finally managed to get some rest, and seemed to be back to his usual joking self.  When the chatter died down, Ben beamed. 

“I just wanted to take this opportunity to say again how glad I am we could all be here together, sharing this moment.  I wish it was under better circumstances, of course, but seeing your smiling faces, enjoying all this delicious food our XO managed to acquire for us—well done on that, Katie, I’m glad my skills have been rubbing off on you over the years—it warms my heart.  And I wanted to share with you all a little something I wrote over the last couple of days, in the spirit of the holidays.

“Think of it as my present to you all, my fellow officers on board the greatest boat in the UEO.  A dramatic adaptation of ‘The Night Before Christmas’, by Benjamin Krieg.” He shook out a piece of paper, clearing his throat again, before he started his recitation.

 _“’Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the boat,  
All our leave had been scheduled, we’re not yet afloat.  
The supplies are all nestled in my cabin with care,  
In hopes that deployment soon would be there._

 _The sailors are nestled all snug in their racks  
All moved in, giving Tim and Katie heart attacks.  
And the COB doing rounds with me in my room,  
I’d just settled down with some food to consume._

 _Then from my comm unit there arose such a clatter  
I turned it on quickly to see what was the matter.  
Across my stateroom I flew like a flash,  
Not even tripping on any of the trash._

 _The image on the vidlink was slow to resolve,  
The UEO logo continued to revolve.  
Then, what to my wondering eyes should appear,  
The captain summoning us all, without any cheer._

 _With a terse order, surly and quick,  
I knew in a moment this was no trick.  
More rapid than eagles, his officers they came,  
Assembling in the wardroom, he called us by name!_

 _“Now Hitchcock, now O’Neill, now Krieg and Ortiz!  
On Wolenczak, on Schafer, on Henderson, please!  
A crisis is here, now I need your attention,  
Macronesia has made Johnson Atoll a point of contention.”_

 _As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,  
His announcement was met with a gasp and a sigh.  
So down to business of planning, the officers, they went  
Not stopping for anything until they were spent._

 _And then, in a twinkling, the vidlink did chime  
As the captain muttered about wasting his time.  
He answered the call with us only on voice  
To be greeted by his friend, Admiral Noyce.  _

_He was dressed all in civvies, from his head to his toes  
And I did my best not to laugh at his clothes.  
A stack of reports could be seen on the table,  
Leaning precariously, clearly unstable._

 _His eyes-they were red-rimmed! His expression, how scary!  
His cheeks were pale, and his tone was wary!  
His droll little mouth was tight like a bow,  
He was clearly fighting down his woe._

 _“I take it then you’ve all heard the news?  
They’ve given us proof even the UEO can’t refuse.  
Thousands are dead, probably more.  
I’m sorry folks, but we’re headed to war.”_

 _The captain looked grim at the admiral’s speech,  
Lucas’ skin was the color of bleach.  
Henderson looked like she wanted to cry,  
And Katie couldn’t manage to stifle her sigh._

 _The admiral closed his end of the link,  
The captain taking a moment to think.  
“I’m going to have to cancel your leave,  
There’s a lot of work we have to achieve.”_

 _He rose from his chair, and gave us a look.  
“We’ll get those bastards, by hook or by crook.  
We’re upping our schedule, I don’t care what it takes,  
Once _seaQuest _is done, they’ll regret their mistakes.”_

The poem was met with a long moment of silence, everyone exchanging looks, before Lucas started snickering.  Soon enough, the rest of the wardroom burst into laughter.  Even the captain seemed to be fighting back the giggles.

“Don’t quit your day job, Ben,” Lucas gasped out between laughs.

“No, no, if he quits his day job, then we won’t have to deal with him anymore!” Miguel got in, setting off another round of laughs.  He shouted over the hilarity: “Please, let him quit!”

“That’s not even how things _happened_ ,” Tim protested half-heartedly, wiping at tears beneath his glasses.

“I’d like to see you do better, Mister Linguistics.  And they call it _poetic liberty_ ,” Ben retorted.

Several long minutes passed happily, but everyone finally managed to get their laughter under control.  Ben looked a little put out, but Lucas knew his friend was happy to see everyone else in a good mood.  He _was_ the self-styled Morale Officer, after all, even if the title was no longer in his official job description.

“Thank you for that interesting account of events, Mr. Krieg,” the captain said dryly.  The wardroom burst into renewed laughter as Ben sat down again in mock defeat.

Lucas smiled as the captain gave him a subtle wink.  _It’s nice to be home for the holidays._

* * *

28 December 2023

Three days out from launching, his Weapons Officer just had to be killed in a car crash.  A freak accident, the police report had called it; Lieutenant Chin’s Mustang had simply hydroplaned on a rainy night and crashed into a tree.  By the time another car came by two hours later, Chin was long dead, and Bridger’s problems were just beginning.

“He comes highly recommended, Nathan,” Bill tried to tell him, glancing down at the record in front of him.  “Several years of combat experience, including ops in Korea, where he cleaned up that unholy mess started by—”

“He’s not even a submariner!” Nathan cut him off, glaring at the vidscreen in his cabin.  It was one of the few pieces of working electronic equipment in the space; the Old Man’s projector was on the fritz again, the light switches sometimes turned the computers off, and the lights themselves had a habit of randomly swapping to red settings without warning.

His scowl only deepened as Noyce shrugged.  Nathan continued to grumble:

“I’ve got to get this boat wet for the first time in three days, and you want me to train up a brand new, wet-behind-the-ears, _Special Ops_ guy who has never even _been_ on a submarine before?”

He was close to shouting, but it had been a long week.  He wouldn’t allow himself to take his frustration out on his crew, so Nathan had to settle for yelling at his boss.

Bill clearly understood, because his tone was placating.  “Lieutenant Brody has done several covert insertions from various boats, so I think it’s safe to say that he _has_ been on a submarine before.  And he’s an expert in weapons and tactics, and—”

“Small unit tactics,” he cut the admiral off.  “ _Not_ submarine warfare.”

“He blew the roof off of the curve at the Tactical Submariner’s Course,” Noyce pointed out.  “Brody might be short on experience, but he’s got the required training and skills.”

Nathan snorted, crossing his arms obstinately.

“Besides, if Wildwood, _does_ get approved, you’ll need his Spec Ops experience.  Not to mention how useful his Anti-Terrorism experience will be to you in the near future.”

That was the best argument Noyce had used yet, but Nathan could tell that something was missing.  He groaned.  “Tell me why you really want me to take him, Bill.”

The admiral shifted uncomfortably, and a long moment passed before he admitted:

“His uncle went to college with the Secretary General.  And for some reason, Frank Thomas has taken it upon himself to watch over his career, too.”

“Oh, great!” Nathan threw his hands up in frustration.  “You want to saddle me with McGath’s fair-haired favorite, now!”

“Now don’t be _too_ ridiculous, Nathan.  Brody really is the best at what he does—he’s already got the Silver Star, for crying out loud!  You want the best of the best on _seaQuest_ , and now you’re complaining because I granted your wish?”

He glowered.  “I asked for submariners, not frogmen.”

“Brody reports today.  I’m sorry—but this decision was made above my paygrade.”

Noyce _did_ sound sorry, but Nathan was in no mood to accept an apology.  Not from someone who had dropped this little surprise on him at the last possible moment.

“Even better!” he snapped sarcastically.  “Now the politicians are messing with my manning.  What’s next, UEO Command coming out to flood the drydock personally?”

A knock on his cabin door kept Nathan from ranting any further.

* * *

He could hear shouting from the other side of the hatch, but judging from the one-sidedness of the exchange, he guessed it was taking place over a vidlink.  The shouting had clearly been going on for a bit, and it sounded far from pleasant, though he couldn’t make out most of the words.  Whoever was yelling at the captain, though, his new boss would probably be grateful for the interruption.

“Even better!” the angry voice shouted from inside the captain’s cabin.  “Now the politicians are messing with my manning.  What’s next, UEO Command coming out to flood the drydock personally?”

He was knocking on the door before the words sank in.

 _Knock.  Knock._

A long moment of silence passed.

“Enter!” the voice that had been shouting finally called, and Brody’s heart sank.

 _You’ve really done it to yourself this time, Jimmy-boy, haven’t you?_   But he pushed the thought aside and stepped through the hatch, closing it behind him before popping to attention in front of the seated figure. 

“Lieutenant Brody reporting as ordered, sir.”  He focused his eyes on the now-blank vidscreen behind the captain’s head, noticing out of the bottom corners of his eyes that the Old Man wasn’t quite as old looking as he’d expected.  He did, however, look like someone who deserved the nickname ‘Iron Pants’.

 _Whatever that means._ Somehow, the guys at the Tactical Submariner’s Course had neglected to explain the nickname, much though they’d used it.  Apparently, the captain _still_ held record scores in a couple of areas, and though Brody had come close, he’d only managed to tie one of them.  But he kept the thought off his face, careful to keep his expression professional.  Still, a long moment of silence ticked by, during which Brody had plenty of time to regret interrupting whatever it was that the captain had been shouting about.  He really knew next to nothing about Bridger, but he sounded like he had one hell of a temper.

“Sit down, Lieutenant,” the captain finally said, gesturing him into a chair.  “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, taking advantage of the opportunity to look around the cabin.  Parts of the space looked half-finished; one of the bulkheads even looked freshly painted—but it looked lived-in, too.  Books on naval history, navigation, and marine biology filled one of the shelves, and old-fashioned paper building plans covered the bed.  To their left stood a portable dry-erase board, upon which various building milestones were listed and crossed off.

Glancing surreptitiously at the captain, Brody was able to assess him, too.  He was wearing old-fashioned reading glasses while studying something on the computer screen—from Brody’s angle, it looked like his own service record.  _Should be interesting reading, at least._ It took all of his self control not to smile, but this captain didn’t seem to be the sort that would appreciate that.

“It says here that you volunteered for submarine duty, despite your previous experience in spec ops.”  Bridger seemed to be the straight-to-the-point type.  Brody could live with that.

“I did, sir.”

Bridger tapped a few keys, closing the personnel file, and turned to fully face Brody.  He hadn’t been scrutinized like this in a long time; Brody was more used to his superiors respecting him for what he had accomplished.  “Care to tell me why?”

 _Does he have to ask?_   But that really wasn’t a good response to start off this interview with his new CO, so he restrained himself and voiced the obvious. 

“War’s coming, sir,” Brody replied honestly.  “And it’s not gonna be like any other war we’ve ever fought before.  If my old skills are going to be of any use, I’m going to have to be on a submarine.  And to get there, I figure I ought to learn some new tricks.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” the captain said dryly.  “I’ll be blunt, Mister Brody.  You’re here because someone pulled strings on your behalf, which means you had better be damned good at your job.  If you are, I won’t hold your bass-ackwards way of getting here against you—otherwise, all bets are off.”

That made Brody blink.  In his experience, people generally tried not to talk about the sneaky things the politicians and senior officers did behind their backs.  All he could really say was “Roger that, Captain.”

Apparently, however, that answer did not completely satisfy Bridger.  His brown eyes narrowed as he removed the reading glasses.  “It seems like you’re in an awful big hurry to go to war, Lieutenant.”

 _Is that a_ problem _?_ he almost asked before biting his tongue.  Instead, he shoved his ego aside and answered truthfully:

“It’s not that I’m in a hurry, sir…it’s just that I believe that if we’ve got to fight, we should do it right.  And that if _someone’s_ going to fight, I’m not gonna stay at home and hide while they do.”

Finally, the captain smiled, leaning back in his chair.

“Mister Brody, I think you’re going to—”

The door flew open without warning, and a young lieutenant burst in.

The kid didn't even spare Brody a look before he started talking.  "The Macronesians took Kingman Reef and Palmyra Atoll."

Brody felt his own jaw drop open, but the captain only blinked.  Hard.

Though the Old Man did look like he wanted to jump up and _do_ something, a feeling Brody could completely commiserate with, he only leaned back in his chair.  Sitting on a submarine that hadn't even been launched yet really wasn't his idea of getting into the war, and not for the first time, he cursed his uncle for suggesting the idea.  _I could be leading SEAL teams into their bases, and Uncle Hamish sends me_ here _? Great idea, Jim!  Sit the action out in a submarine that isn’t ready for war.  How many years are going to pass before this bucket of rust is in the fight?_   Unfortunately, it was too late for him to back out now.

"How much do we know, Lucas?" the captain asked.

"Not much, sir.  It sounds like they surrendered pretty quickly, though.  The Macronesians are keeping a pretty tight hold on information coming out," the young man (Lucas, apparently, and who was he that the captain called him by his first name?) said.

"See what you can't find out," the captain ordered, and there was an edge in his voice that told Brody there was something very specifically _not_ being said.

"It's going to take a while if I don't want them following me home," the lieutenant said, making Brody scowl despite his earlier determination to keep his feelings out if his expression.  _Following him home?_

"Take all the time you need.  It's not like we're going anywhere at the moment, after all."

"But if we could get this information to Admiral Noyce, maybe he could show it to Secretary McGath…"

"See what you can't find, first.  I'm not going to promise anyone a smoking gun if one doesn't exist." The look the captain shot the kid was cautionary. 

The lieutenant looked like he wanted to say something in return, but his eyes flashed towards Brody, and he seemed to think better of it.  "Yes, sir."

 _Wonder what he was going to say?_

"All right.  Get to work," the captain ordered, but he was wearing a smile when he said it.

"Does this mean I get a free pass from simulator training?" the kid asked, returning the grin.

"Oh, just get out of here! You can make the training up later—and you'd better, Lucas."

"And to think, you used to _yell_ at me for playing video games when I was supposed to be working," Lucas grinned as he left the captain's stateroom.

Bridger rolled his eyes and gestured at the closing hatch.  "Allow me to belatedly introduce Lieutenant J.G.  Wolenczak, our resident genius—and EWO.  You'll be working with him a lot as Weps.  He's also probably the best hacker in the Navy."

Not a lot of captains would openly admit to allowing someone to start hacking away at the enemy's computer systems, but Brody was beginning to realize that _seaQuest_ really wasn't just another ship.  Or boat.  Whatever they called this thing.

"He seems rather...." _Young? Undisciplined? Disrespectful?_ "Focused."

"That's one word for him." Bridger chuckled.  "I'll be honest with you, Lieutenant.  I'm a big believer in doing what works, and I've displayed a certain tendency to bend the rules throughout my career—so I expect my officers to do the same.  Now, that's not to say that I expect you to play fast and loose with regulations just for the hell of it, but I do expect you to use your instincts.  That's why you've got them."

He let himself grin.  "I couldn't agree with you more, sir.  Two most important things for someone like me—training and instincts.  You can get by with one or the other, but to succeed, you've got to have both.  At least that's what I always say." _There. That ought to do the trick._

"I expect you to live up to that, then, Mr. Brody," the captain replied.  "Also—and I'm only going to say this once—if you're going to do something shady, and it's going to leave this boat, I want to know about it.  I'll keep you out of trouble where I can, but that's a lot easier to do when I know what it is you're up to."

Brody didn't quite know what to say to that.  Most COs discouraged such behavior, and here the Old Man was pretty much giving him permission.  He didn't know how to feel about that or whether he would ever feel the need to take him up on that offer.  "I'll keep that in mind, sir."

"Good.  Now, have you met the XO yet?"

"Not yet, Captain.  It took me longer to get through security than I had expected, so I came here first." In fact, it had taken most of the morning to get through security, but he wouldn't complain.

"Well, I should warn you that Commander Hitchcock is a much bigger stickler for following the rules than I am—which means she'll chew you a new one for not checking in with her first.  But you'll get over it," the captain replied cheerfully, standing up before Brody had a chance to even figure out what his answer to that should be.  "Come along.  I'll introduce you two."


	11. A Cup of Kindness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like we're getting back on posting schedule. Hope you all enjoy this chapter--just think of it as the calm before the storm that's coming in Chapter 12 ;-).

31 December 2023

“When I promised we’d have _seaQuest_ wet by the end of the year, I hadn’t intended to take myself quite so literally,” Bridger joked, watching the console over Ben’s shoulder.

“It could be worse, sir.  At least it’s four in the afternoon instead of a few minutes before midnight,” the Supply Officer replied lightly, his eyes glued to the Damage Control readout in front of him.

 _When Katie said that I’d be managing the DC Console for the General Quarters watchbill, I thought she was joking! Sure, it’s nice to have something to do instead of sit in my stateroom, but this is supposed to be an_ engineer’s _job!_   Ben thought, trying to decide if he wanted to grin or grimace.  He was stuck there, however, no matter which strange twist of fate (or his ex-wife’s mind) had brought him to this place.  Of course, Brad Williams was an ‘old school’ engineer, who wanted to spend his time covered in grease and in engineering spaces instead of on the bridge, which explained why young Lonnie Henderson sat on at the Engineering Console while Brad babied his precious reactors in person.  _seaQuest’s_ Auxo seemed to have a natural flair for engineering and was doing fine so far—but Lordie, the girl was wet behind the ears!

That thought made Ben grin.  Of course, the fact that Lonnie seemed to have a crush on him _wasn’t_ very amusing, but that was the breaks.  Fortunately, he wasn’t interested in her—not at all—because Katie would probably have killed him if Ben had even harbored a thought in that direction.   _She’s way too young for me,_ he told himself, ignoring the fact that he usually went for women about Henderson’s age.  _And since Katie’s taken her under her wing, waaaay off limits!_

“Let’s not tempt fate, shall we, Mr. Krieg?” the captain responded lightly, jerking Ben’s attention back to the present.  _Thank God that wasn’t a response to what I was just thinking!_ Heaven only knew what the Captain would think of Ben even looking Lonnie’s way.  He’d rather face Katie’s wrath, come to think of it.

“Oh, that’s definitely not my intention.”  A light on his console was flashing, too, so it was a good thing that he’d started paying attention.  “Material Condition Zebra set throughout the ship, Captain.”

“Very well.”

Immediately, Chief Carleton, the Diving Officer, piped up to add “The ship is rigged for dive, sir.”

“I concur.”  Bridger dropped a hand on Ben’s shoulder briefly, seeming to sense his tension—how _did_ the man seem so calm? Submerging in a submarine had become old hat to Ben years ago, but submerging a submarine that had _never_ been wet before was nerve wracking as all hell. 

On the bright side, the new weapons officer—whatever his name was, Brady or Brody or something—looked a bit green.  In fact, he looked _really_ green, which made Ben feel quite a bit better.  At least he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

The captain moved a step away before lifting the handheld radio that allowed them to communicate with the crew controlling the now-sealed flooding drydock.  “Control, _seaQuest_ , we are rigged for dive.  Flood the drydock.”

“Flood the drydock, aye,” the radio crackled, and Ben tried not to hold his breath.

In the end, the fact that he’d managed not to turned out to be a good thing.  The process took _hours_.

***************************

 _seaQuest_ belonged to the UEO Navy from start to finish; unlike most newly-built warships, she did not remain the property of the contracting company that had built her up until what the Navy called “Delivery”.  Instead, she was built, designed, and managed by the Navy, which used specialty contractors to build and install equipment where necessary.  It meant that the pre-commissioning crew had bore the enormous responsibility of getting the boat ready for sea, but keeping her in the Navy’s hands also increased the likelihood of _seaQuest’s_ existence remaining a secret.  Back when her keel was laid, the UEO had decided that a slightly extended construction timetable was a worthy trade off for secrecy, but there were downsides.

“Deck’s awash,” Ortiz reported, using the traditional navy phraseology to indicate that _seaQuest_ was now fully underwater.  If she’d had a sail like most other submarines, it would have still be above the water, but _seaQuest’s_ unique design eliminated that.

“Hull integrity at 100 percent,” Ensign Henderson reported, her voice sounding relieved.  They’d had some minor flooding two hours before when the water level had finally reached _seaQuest’s_ bottom, but overall, the new bio-skin seemed to be holding up just fine.

“No additional leaks reported,” Krieg added on, rather unnecessarily—but this was his first time manning the DC Console outside of training, so his nerves were understandable.  Most captains told their supply officers to make themselves scarce during any tense situation, but Krieg was best kept busy.

Besides, Ben knew his stuff.  The man was actually a damn good officer, when he wanted to be.

“Very well,” Nathan replied, leaning casually against the navigation table.  Somehow, he managed to keep his tone from revealing the headache he’d been fighting for the last four hours—as much as he preferred to keep every aspect of his boat’s construction and testing under his control, this evolution was turning out to be more stressful than he’d anticipated.

The last time he’d pre-commissioned a boat—way back in 2005, which made him feel _really_ old—he’d been a spectator watching USS _Jimmy Carter_ slip into the water.  At the time, he’d ached to have more involvement in the process, dreaming of the submarine he’d started designing and would someday build…but he’d been a bit naïve about the entire process, too.  Nathan had no idea it would be this much _work_ until he’d started it, and by then he was far too terminally stubborn to back out and tell the UEO that they ought to build _seaQuest_ the traditional way.

He lifted the radio again.  “Control, _seaQuest_ , the boat is submerged.  Complete flood and pressurize to simulated depth of 500 feet.”

Shipbuilding had come a long way since the first time he’d watched a boat launched; then, you had to wait until sea trials to actually see how the sub handled pressure.  Nowadays, a specially constructed drydock like this one could increase the apparent pressure once flooded, a feature that would _hopefully_ save them a lot of grief once sea trials started.

“Control, aye.”

 _I should have started with something a bit more benign,_ Nathan thought to himself, struggling not to let his impatience get the better of him.  _Like_ one _hundred feet, not five hundred._ So far, the evolution had taken four hours, including the pause while they’d plugged up some flooding in the aft torpedo room.  It was almost eight o’clock PM by now, and he had promised his crew that he’d try to get them off the boat in time for New Year’s.  He couldn’t give them more than a day off—not with trials scheduled to start on the nineteenth—but Nathan knew they needed something.  The last fourteen days had been stressful enough to make everyone short-tempered, and they deserved a break.

All the same, _seaQuest_ took the added pressure like a champ.  Flooding the rest of the drydock took only moments once they knew that the boat wasn’t going to suddenly spring a leak, and within five minutes of that, the first pressure check was complete.

An hour later, they were at the drydock’s max pressure of ten thousand feet, and Nathan’s headache was vanishing rapidly.  His feet, however, were growing sorer by the moment.  It had been ages since he’d spent six hour watches standing around in a submarine’s control room, and he’d almost forgotten how much Navy regulation shoes could tear up his feet when given half a chance.  Still, Nathan was a big believer in the old submariner tradition of not sitting in the Captain’s Chair until the boat was accepted by the Navy.  So, his feet would stay sore.

Nathan finally let himself smile.  “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I’d say we’ve closed out 2023 with a bang.  Well done.”

His watchstanders were too professional to break out cheering, but they did exchange grins and a few discreet high fives.  Oddly enough, the only one not celebrating was the officer most prone to do so.  He turned.

“Something troubling you, Mr. Krieg?”

“Ummm…I’m starting to get some funny readings on Deck Fourteen aft of frame 900.”

A sinking feeling started to fill the pit of Nathan’s stomach.  “Funny like ha ha, or funny like out of parameters?”

“Um.  I’m not sure, Captain.”  For once, Ben looked completely puzzled, and Nathan could tell it was not an act.  “Not funny like ha ha, at any rate.  It might be faulty sensors—do you have anything, Henderson?”

“Not yet…Cheng’s sent someone to check it out, though.”

“What readings do you have, Ben?” Nathan asked, walking up the stairs to the upper level, and looking over the Supply Officer’s shoulder again. 

“I’m showing a slow leak in the seawater supply system on the port side,” Krieg answered as he got there.  “Might just be faulty sensors—Commander Williams thought they were kind of squirrely and had me order new ones for the system last week, but they haven’t arrived yet.”

Instinct prickled, and Bridger lifted the radio immediately.  “Control, _seaQuest_ , return pressure to normal.”

“Return pressure to normal, Control, aye,” the operator on the other end answered immediately.

Katie threw a questioning look his way, and he headed back to the center of the bridge to talk to her.  “We’ve proven the boat can withstand ten thousand feet of pressure,” he answered quietly, leaning on the back of her chair.  “There’s no need to push it—and besides, I hear some of you have New Year’s plans.”

“Not if we start springing leaks we don’t, sir,” she replied dryly, but Nathan could see the laughter lurking in her eyes.  Katie played the disciplinarian perfectly, and most of the newer crew members still hadn’t discovered her rather wicked sense of humor.  “And _no one_ is going anywhere until I’m satisfied with _seaQuest’s_ cleanliness.”

Several watchstanders groaned aloud hearing that, but Bridger grinned. 

“I knew you’d make a good XO,” he said with a chuckle.  “You’re meaner than I am.”

“Bet your ass I am, Captain,” Hitchcock grinned in return.  “In fact—”

A sudden call on the boat’s communication system cut her off.  “Bridge, Chief Engineer, we’ve got major flooding in the aft torpedo room, estimate fifty gallons per minute from ruptured seawater service piping.  Sealing the space now!”

“Chief of the Watch, call it away!” Bridger snapped before his brain completely caught up with what he was hearing. 

The words went out over the 1MC as soon as Chief Crocker could grab the microphone, following the traditional sound of rapidly ringing bells to get the crew’s attention.

“Flooding, flooding, flooding.  Flooding reported in the aft torpedo room, compartment number One Four tac Nine Zero Four tac One tac Mike.  Away the at sea fire party away, provide from Repair Five.”

Chief Crocker repeated the announcement again, sending _seaQuest’s_ emergency response team to compartment 14-904-1-M, the aft torpedo room.  Immediately Chief Carleton started compensating for the flooding by subtracting ballast up forward—keeping _seaQuest_ level was an intricate balancing act at any time, but when she was confined to such a narrow space as the drydock, doing so was especially important.  The last thing they wanted was for her stern to sink far enough that it impacted the drydock’s floor…and it wouldn’t take many degrees off center to accomplish that, what with how shallow the drydock was.  Bridger watched him for a moment, but the Chief seemed to have the boat ‘dialed in’ just fine.

Even if the space flooded solid, _seaQuest_ wouldn’t sink—not that doing so was really much of a problem in the drydock—but it was still an annoyance.  If the aft torpedo room _did_ entirely fill with water, they were likely to have to replace a lot of the equipment inside it, which would take more time than they had.  _Our production schedule definitely isn’t geared for replacing finicky hydraulic equipment like torpedo tube rams and the torpedo handling system,_ Nathan thought with an internal grimace.  

Of course, right now all he could do was wait and let his people do their jobs.  Meanwhile, however, he turned to Katie with a wry smile.  “Me and my big mouth, huh?”

“I wasn’t going to say it, sir.”

“I guess this is a good time to be happy that you worked the kinks out of all of our underway watchbills, don’t you think, Commander?” he asked instead of replying to the dry look his XO was giving him.

Katie smiled, seemingly despite herself.  The watchbill argument was one they’d had a week ago; Katie had wanted to put off figuring out which stations the crew would man until they had a bit more training under their belts, but Bridger had insisted on completing them before launch.  “I was beginning to think you’d gone crazy, but it seems like there was a method to your madness after all.”

 _Only years of experience in dealing with unanticipated disasters,_ he didn’t say.  Instead, he turned to ask:

“How bad is the flooding, Ben?”

“Faster than the pumps can keep up with, but it looks like Cheng has activated the eductor, so as long as they can secure whatever system is—” Krieg stopped, listening to information being passed through his headset.  “They’ve got the seawater system isolated, sir.  Dewatering in progress.”

“Good.”  Nathan turned to the rest of his watchstanders.  “All right, folks, now that Mister Murphy has paid us a visit, I want to check this boat from top to bottom.  Now that she’s wet, she’ll be staying that way, so it behooves us to make sure we stay dry inside.  We’ve got—” he checked his watch “—about three hours until midnight, so if we want to have any fun tonight, we’d best get to work.”

Of course, it would be Krieg who had to comment: “Can we convince this Murphy character to make his New Year's resolution be to leave us alone?"

Now that the minor crisis was under control, he was right back to his usual joking self, and Nathan had to chuckle.

“Let me know how that works out for you, Mr. Krieg,” he said dryly, and turned his attention back to his boat.

***************************

A bit more than two hours later, Katie felt punch-drunk already.  They’d finally released the crew after dewatering the flooded space and verifying which equipment probably needed replacing, and _she’d_ finally pried Brad Williams out of engineering and personally kicked him off of the boat.  He hadn’t actually needed reminding that he had a wife and kids at home, but Brad _did_ tend to forget to look at the clock for long periods of time, so Katie had gone after him herself.  Of course, she remembered being just that bad back in her own days as _seaQuest’s_ Chief Engineer, but now that she was the XO, part of her job was making sure that people got rest when they needed it.

 _That even includes you, Hitchcock,_ she reminded herself sternly, ignoring how much she wanted to stick around and make sure nothing else went wrong.  Besides, her parents had flown into town for New Year’s, and their hotel was only about a thirty minute drive from the base.  She’d make it to the Sheraton around eleven o’clock, so she really didn’t have an excuse to avoid them.

Not that she wanted to.  She was just dead tired, and figured that one glass of champagne would make her pass right out.  There was no way she was going back to the boat tonight, though, so she might as well take advantage of the opportunity to have a bit of fun before going back to being the hellacious XO everyone loved to hate.

Traffic was thankfully light, though, and she reached their room a few minutes before eleven.  Katie had changed into her khakis before leaving the boat, of course—her parents always griped about never seeing her in uniform, but she’d be damned if she was willing to put on her dress blues just so they could seeher in it.  Again.

“Katie!” her mother opened the door with a grin on her face, and pulled her into a hug before Katie could get a word out.  “Don’t you look wonderful!”

With an effort, she resisted the urge to make a snarky comment about the fight they’d had last New Year’s Eve.  Back then, her mother hadn’t been pleased with Katie rejoining the Navy, and had made her own opinions extremely clear.  She had seen Katie’s decision as a setback, giving up a hefty paycheck and the prestige of her own command for the chance to get shot at by Macronesians.  She hadn’t really cared that Katie wanted to make a difference more than she wanted to make money, but apparently her mother’s unpredictable nature had struck again.

 _I guess she’s had a change of heart since then.  As usual._

"Thanks, Mom," she replied.  "How was your flight in?"

“Awful.  They’re still routing everything through Texas, which makes everything take so much longer.  But come in!  We’ve missed you terribly, and you hardly _ever_ call.”

Katie had almost managed to forget that most of the west coast of the US was gone.  She had been so busy since the earthquake dealing with _seaQuest_ and worrying about Macronesia that she hadn’t even had time to figure out the insurance paperwork on the condo she’d had in Los Angeles.

"Sorry, things have been busy.  I was going to call you on Christmas, but by the time I remembered, it was the middle of the night for you," she apologized, following her mother into the hotel room.

“Happy New Year, sweetie,” her father called from the bedroom, sounding distracted.  Of course, her parents had rented the penthouse for their stay in Pearl Harbor, but Katie wasn’t surprised.  They’d always done things like that.

“Don’t mind him,” her mother told her for what had to be the millionth time.  “He’s talking to the trainer of one of the two year old racehorses he owns.  They’re thinking that this is the ‘big one’, and I can’t pry him off the vidlink about it.”  She waved Katie towards the enormous spread of food laid out in the front room.  “Help yourself, and while you’re at it, tell me about this new assignment of yours.  You’re not usually this secretive.” 

"Did you get all this food for just the three of us, or are you expecting more people?" she asked, neatly sidestepping the second part of her mother's question.

Her mother shrugged.  “Well, we were hoping that Ben might show up—did you know he was here in Pearl, honey?—but he said he had other plans.”

“Tell her to try the Kendall-Jackson champagne.  It’s extraordinary,” her father called in.

"You invited _Ben_? Mom, he _works_ for me right now," she snapped, hardly even hearing her father’s comment.  _And he's damn lucky he was smart enough to say no!_

“Well, we didn’t know that, now, did we?” was the innocent response; her mother offered her a glass of the aforementioned champagne without looking the slightest bit chagrined.  “If you told us anything about your current assignment, we might have.  Besides, Ben’s a family friend.  That isn’t against regulations, is it?”

Katie felt a headache blossoming.  She took the glass of champagne, swallowing down almost the entire flute without bothering to taste it.  She would probably regret it later, but for now, she would need the liquid courage to get through the night with her mother.  "We've been divorced for ten years.  I spend enough time with him at work, and I don't want to see him in my free time."

“I’m hardly suggesting you remarry him, Katie,” her mother tried to soothe her.  “You father and I just miss him sometimes, that’s all.  He’s a wonderful young man.”

"If you think he's that wonderful, why don't you just divorce Dad and marry him yourself, Mom?" Katie asked sarcastically.

"I heard that!" her father called in from the next room, laughing.  In some ways, Ben had always reminded Katie of her own dad, perpetually good natured and always wearing a smile.  Katie had inherited her drive from her mother, who had been CEO of her own massive banking corporation before retiring a few years earlier.  They were very alike, which was probably why they fought so much, and why Katie had always turned to her dad when she needed a shoulder to lean on.

Her mother, however, gave her a dark look.  "Oh, don't be overly dramatic, Katherine.  I was simply expressing regrets.  Why don't you eat something?  You look exhausted."

Katie sighed.  She _was_ exhausted, of course, but if she told her mother that, she would start asking questions again.  And as much as Katie wanted to gush about the new _seaQuest_ , they were too close to being done for her to be comfortable taking that risk.  _Nineteen days until sea trials, and then maybe I can talk to someone outside the crew about this,_ she thought tiredly.  _Maybe_.  Knowing UEO security, it would take a lot longer than that.

"Can we please just not talk about my failed personal life tonight?" Katie practically begged, hoping to derail that conversation early.  After all, it was hardly the first time her parents had felt the need to extol the virtues of Benjamin Krieg.  And it probably wouldn't be the last. 

 _And if she even_ thinks _about bringing up grandchildren again, I’m leaving,_ she thought grouchily.

"Of course we can, honey.  I didn't mean to ruin your evening," her mother replied.  "Now, _eat_ something, Katherine, before you fall over."

She knew better than to argue with that tone, of course, so Katie dug into the food that was offered.  As usual, the selection was really good, so she was able to actually enjoy the food—and the conversation, once her mother stopped talking about Ben, at least.  Fortunately, her father emerged from his call a few minutes later, and Katie was soon inundated with information about his newest star racehorse, who her father was certain would make the big races next year.

***************************

“You owe me one,” Nathan muttered as they headed up the walk.

“Owe you? Why would I owe you anything?” Kristin retorted.  “I’m the one wearing high heels here.”

He snorted.  “This is _your_ friend’s party.  And _I’m_ wearing a suit, which you know I hate to do.”

“And _I’m_ wearing a formal ball gown, which I like about as much as you do suits.  Stop complaining, Nathan.  These are your kind of people—Marco is even head of the Mote Marine Lab Dolphin and Whale Hospital.  You’ve been bugging me to introduce you two for years.”

They’d reached the mansion’s door, and Kristin elbowed him.  Hard.

“Now _smile_ , Nathan, and act like you mean it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, pasting a smile on his face and trying to look sincere.  Truth be told, he’d usually feel excited to meet some of these people—being around scientists had become his favored method of stress relief since he’d gone back to being full-time Navy—but he was just so darn tired that drumming up enthusiasm for anything was hard.  Still, it had been a good day— _seaQuest_ was wet, so he supposed he could afford to smile.

Moments later, the door opened, and they were soon engrossed in the party.  The novelty of being with fellow scientists was enough to keep Nathan awake through watching a replay of the ball dropping in New York City and through four glasses of champagne, though somewhere around twelve thirty, he really started to feel the pressure of the last few days and began to droop.  Thankfully, a good conversation about dolphin rescue with Dr. Marco Rodriquez saved him from falling asleep on his feet, though, and soon the two were trading experiences and stories. 

“The problem is,” Rodriquez was saying, “what with the way the various political powers in the world are ratcheting up the tension, the number of marine rescue groups we can work with has rapidly diminished—especially after we lost a good third of them when California sank into the Pacific.  Several of our old partners are in areas now owned by Macronesia, and they’re just not able to take adoptees from inside the UEO.”

“I didn’t realize things had gotten that bad.”  _Not while I had my head under a rock named_ seaQuest _, anyway,_ Nathan thought to himself, feeling guilty.

“Thankfully, most of the rescues and not-for-profit groups in Florida are still with us, though this year has been really hard on the dolphin population.  Everyone’s just about full up, and I’ve had to send a few dolphins to Sea World Orlando— _not_ my favorite place to send a rescue in need of care—just because I’m out of space.

“Usually, I try to eventually release every rescue I take in, but right now I’m sitting on an almost three year old female who simply refuses to stay in the wild,” the other marine biologist continued.  “Every time we send her out, she beaches herself again, and there’s nothing physically wrong with her.  The only problem we can pinpoint is that she _likes_ being around humans.  She’s an absolute doll, and usually I wouldn’t complain, but Minerva is taking up space that could be used to heal a hurt dolphin.”

“What brought her in?” Nathan asked, unable to help himself.

“She and her mother got caught in some tuna fishers’ nets,” was the snarling response.  “The mother died, but we were able to save her, thankfully.  She was touch and go for the first year and a half, getting infections, respiratory issues, and a lung problem that almost made us lose her, but she’s a tough little girl.”  Nathan could hear the affection in his voice, and had to smile.  “I’d love to send her to a research group, because she’s one of the brightest dolphins I’ve ever encountered, but no one has any room.”

 _I really shouldn’t, but…ah, hell.  Why not?_ “Have you thought about talking to the Navy?” Nathan asked with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

“The Navy?”

“Before you call me crazy, let me explain,” he replied with a chuckle.  “One of the holdovers from our work on _seaQuest_ is quite a bit of dolphin research—I’m sure Kristin has told you about what we were working on back before the incident with World Power.”

“Your crew was working on the vocorder!” Rodriquez exclaimed all of a sudden.  “I thought that project was discontinued when _seaQuest_ sank.”

Nathan wasn’t surprised that an eminent Marine Biologist like Marco Rodriquez would have heard of the vocorder project; although Lucas’ work had been classified for a long time, nowadays the UEO had actually admitted that the vocorder existed.  Of course, they were still claiming that the project was ‘ongoing’ and ‘beginning to show progress’, but at least the information was beginning to reach the scientific community. 

“Not quite.  In fact, Lucas Wolenczak is still involved, but so far, we’ve really only had one dolphin dedicated to the project.  If Minerva is as bright and as willing as you say, I could probably get the funding authorized for her to join the project.”

Not many people got to see such a pleasantly shocked expression on Marco Rodriquez’s face—his reputation called him more than a little difficult to work for—but Nathan was definitely treated to it as they began to work out the details.

 _I did promise Lucas more dolphins,_ the captain thought to himself.  _And it’s not like there isn’t room on_ seaQuest _.  As long as she gets along with Darwin, we should be able to move her over pretty quickly._

Of course, adding Minerva to the crew would just add one more thing to that long list of tasks they had to accomplish before sea trials, but something told Nathan that Lucas wouldn’t complain about this one any more than he would.

***************************

1 January 2024

“Last call, folks,” the cute waitress that Ben had been flirting with all night said as she passed their table.  Ben checked his watch.  **0252**.  _Damn.  At least we have tomorrow…today…off._

“Alright, lady and gentlemen, time to go home,” Ben said to his companions.  The night had originally started with him dragging Lucas and Tim out to the Officers’ Club on base.  While not the most exciting place to go, the O Club was at least nearby and wouldn’t be nearly as crowded as any of the civilian bars off base.  That, and getting back to the boat from there was a damn sight easier than corralling this group out in town would have been.

Their group of three had expanded to five when Miguel had joined them, and then Lucas had noticed Henderson sitting alone, so they had invited the young ensign over to join them as well.  To her credit, she had barely tried to flirt with Ben at all, even after Miguel and Tim had taken turns buying her drinks.

“’s not time to go yet,” Lucas slurred, and Ben tried not to laugh at his friend.  It had become apparent rather early into their night that the young man just wasn’t used to heavy drinking, despite having just turned 22 the week before.  But Ben had drawn the short straw for the tragically noble role of designated driver, and as such, had encouraged Lucas to enjoy himself more than he might normally have otherwise.

“I can get Ensign Henderson back if you want to deal with those two,” Miguel offered.  The two of them had shared the enjoyment of watching the other three get progressively more inebriated as the night moved on, remaining mostly sober themselves.

“Thanks,” Ben said, hauling Lucas to his feet.  “Come on, buddy.  Time to go home.” He nudged Tim, who had his head down on the table.  “Let’s go, O’Neill.  I can’t carry both of you.”

The muffled reply sounded like some sort of curse, but Ben wasn’t quite sure.  He _was_ sure that is had been in Chinese, though.  _At least, I think it was Chinese.  Maybe it was Korean.  Vietnamese?_ Miguel was laughing at him, Henderson leaning heavily against his side and giggling drunkenly.

“Good luck, sir.  Don’t call me if you need reinforcements,” the warrant officer said before making his retreat.  Ben nudged at Tim again, but the commander didn’t lift his head, and Lucas continued to wobble precariously at his side.

“Need a hand there, Commander?” Lieutenant Brody asked, sidling up to the table.  Ben resisted the urge to grimace, smiling instead.  Brody had only managed to _somewhat_ annoy Ben the few times they had worked together, though he certainly had the potential to get further under Ben’s skin than that.  Brody was clearly the type of guy who thought his life was an action movie and he was the hero, and to make matters worse, he acted like he thought everyone _else_ should believe that, too.  Ben had seen him throughout the night, but he had been surrounded by a gaggle of girls, and he’d felt no need to invite him over.

 _Guess his lady friends abandoned him for the evening.  But beggars can’t be choosers, Ben, and you can’t get these two back to the boat by yourself._

“Grab O’Neill, will you? I think he’s fallen asleep,” he said.

“Sure thing, Commander,” Brody replied, tucking himself under one of Tim’s arms to haul him up off the chair.  Ben wished he had a camera handy to capture the image of the usually put-together Tim O’Neill with his glasses askew, hair a mess, and drool stuck to the side of his face.

 _Guess I’ll just have to rely on my memories.  Shame, it would have been great blackmail material._

“Happy New Year, boys,” Ben said, leading their procession out into the cool Hawaiian night and back to the boat.

 


	12. Cloak and Dagger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we decided to update again a little early. Don't thank us until after you read this chapter, though ;-). Also, this chapter is a prime example of why Robin shouldn't let me name characters. Cookies to anyone who catches my two happy little shout-outs.

2 January 2024

 _“Take a day off,_ ” the captain had started the conversation by telling him, and although Lucas found that his ‘day off’ was a bit directed in nature, he wasn’t arguing.  After all, he hadn’t seen Doctor Westphalen since his last year at MIT, and Darwin had been hanging out around the research areas at the university where Kristin was currently conducting her research.  Without _seaQuest,_ the Hawaii Institute of Marine Biology at the University of Hawaii had become the home of the vocorder; they had a long and comfortable understanding with the Navy, and MIT didn’t exactly feature a dolphin research center.  While streamlining his program, Lucas had traveled quite a bit between Hawaii and MIT, but ever since joining the Navy, he’d been a bit distracted.

Darwin had dropped by the shipyard a few times, of course, but it wasn’t the same as having him on board.  Now that the boat was wet and staying that way (and they’d successfully tested the swim tubes), it was almost time to bring Darwin home.  They had to wait at least a week, of course, to allow the water in the tubes to settle out, but the captain had already told Lucas that moving Darwin aboard would be his responsibility.  Lucas was more than a little excited to have been chosen to do so, too, because it showed that the captain hadn’t forgotten his relationship to Darwin, and that maybe Bridger was starting to put _this_ Lucas together with the kid Lucas who had been assigned to the first _seaQuest_.

Besides, he was still nursing his New Year’s hangover a bit—he, Ben, Tim, Miguel, and Lonnie had gone out again the night before, and though they hadn’t drank nearly as much as they had on New Year’s Eve, apparently Lucas had imbibed enough to make himself somewhat woozy the next morning.

 _What_ was _Ben feeding me?_ he wondered several hours too late.  _I thought I could handle more liquor than that, but man, my head hurts._

The captain had volunteered Petty Officer Riley to drive Lucas, so at least he wasn’t stuck squinting in the bright January sunlight and trying to drive.  He’d even managed to get a bit of a nap in on the way to Coconut Island, though the drive wasn’t nearly long enough to let him get a good sleep in.

That, and he had to get on a launch to actually get to the island where the University’s Marine Mammal Research Program was located, which put a serious dent in his naptime.

“Lucas!  Welcome back,” Doctor Westphalen greeted him with a huge smile, pulling him into a hug almost as soon as he stepped out of the car.  Then she stepped back to inspect him, her hands still on his arms. “The uniform looks good on you.”

“You’re not…angry with me?” he asked, hating the way his voice tried to waver.  _I wasn’t even sure she knew that I joined the Navy…I should have called her, but somehow the chance just never came up._

 _Sure it didn’t, Lucas,_ his sarcastic inner voice replied.  _You couldn’t_ wait _to see her reaction to this, could you?_   But Kristin wasn’t giving him the disapproving look he had feared; in fact, she was smiling. 

“Nathan told me, and I yelled at him for letting you,” she replied cheerfully, squeezing his arm affectionately.  “So I won’t yell at you.”

He swallowed hard.  “I thought…”

“I understand your reasoning, even if I do wish you’d stick with science,” the familiar British voice cut him off, wrapping an arm around him and leading him towards the outer edge of the research facility.  “Come on.  Darwin says he misses you.”

"I miss him, too," Lucas replied.  "We've been so busy lately..."

"Nathan told me.  Or didn't, really, though I did watch him almost fall asleep on the couch at a New Year’s party," Kristin told him with a grin.

He grinned in return.  "That certainly sounds like the captain."

“Fortunately, a Marine biologist friend of mine rescued him from sleepy boredom,” she continued with a chuckle.  “And, actually…he also has rescued Darwin from the same fate.  Boredom, I mean.”

"Is that what all of today's cryptic behavior was about? He kicked me off the boat and sent me out here and didn't even bother to explain why."  Lucas shrugged, then added:  "Not that I'm complaining, of course.  I'd rather be out here visiting Darwin than going through another one of Commander Hitchcock's simulator evolutions any day.”

“You Navy types,” Kristin teased, rolling her eyes.  “All work and no play.  The answer to your question is yes, though.  We’ve found a friend for Darwin—she was just flown in this morning from the Mote Marine Lab Dolphin and Whale Hospital.  Her name is Minerva, and Darwin can’t wait to meet her.”

All of Lucas' lingering exhaustion vanished, replaced by excitement.  "Have you tried talking to her with the vocorder yet? It's mostly programmed for Darwin's specific frequencies, but I should be able to expand the programming if we get enough data samples from her," he replied, all but bouncing up and down with excitement.  Immediately, a thousand thoughts starting racing through his mind, and he started mentally rewriting the code for the vocorder to expand its capabilities.

“No, I thought I’d wait for you.  It _is_ your program, after all.”

Kristin’s smile was so big that Lucas thought it might split her face in half, but before he could respond, she waved him towards a long dock on the island’s north side.  The scenery was gorgeous, of course—a typical idyllic Hawaiian marine mammal haven—but Lucas hardly noticed.  He was still too excited, and felt like a sixteen year old again as he followed Kristin.

“Come on.  Minerva’s in one of our floating pens, and Darwin’s been lurking around outside for hours.  Nathan and I told him about her yesterday, and he’s terribly excited.”

"D’you have a wetsuit I can borrow? The captain didn't bother to tell me I should bring a change of clothes," Lucas said apprehensively.  "And Commander Hitchcock would probably kill me if I ruined my khakis."

Westphalen grinned, and for a moment, Lucas felt just like he had back when he was first meeting Darwin, so many years before.  The mystery and the excitement were the same, and here was Kristin, just like old times.  “Of course I do, Lucas.  Come on, then.”

Ten minutes later, Lucas emerged from one of the nearby buildings in a UHI wetsuit, and Kristin led him over to the edge of the floating pens.  Still smiling, she handed over the portable vocorder.  “Darwin’s probably nearby, so you most likely won’t even have to call him.  He and Minerva have been talking through the divider all morning.”

Lucas sat down on the very outside of the floating pen, dangling his feet into the water as he dialed in the frequency on the unit.  As excited as he was to meet Minerva, he wanted to greet his old friend, first, and spotted a gray streak swimming his way under water.  "Hey, Darwin," he said into the vocorder, and then waited.

"Lucas play?" was the immediate response, coming almost as soon as Darwin's head poked up out of the water.

Lucas grinned so hard his face hurt.  "Hey, buddy.  Yeah, Lucas is here to play for a little while.  And to meet your new friend."

The excited chittering didn't need translating; finally, Darwin calmed down enough to say, "Darwin _happy_.  Darwin like friends."

"Yeah, I bet you do, Fish Breath.  Let's see if we can get this girl talking," he said, punching in a few new commands into the unit.  He hoped there was enough range in the programmed frequency to at least begin communicating with their new dolphin, but he wouldn't know until he tried.  _And if not, I'll just have to tweak the code._

"Darwin want _in_ ," his old friend said stubbornly, butting his head against the gate that separated Minerva from the outside world.  On the other side of it, Lucas finally noticed a young-looking dolphin watching him curiously from only two or three feet away.

"Lucas, this is Minerva." Hearing her name, the dolphin came right up to the divider and thrust her head into Kristin's hands.  "She's very bored, and _very_ affectionate."

"Has she been in quarantine long enough to let Darwin in to play with her yet?" Lucas asked, reaching over to rub the dolphin's beak.

"She's fine.  She's been at the Mote for almost two years—every time they tried to release her, she came back.  Minerva's well socialized, though she does tend to enjoy humans as much as she does dolphins, which worried some of her old keepers."

The new dolphin flipped over in response to his touch, offering up a fin.  Chuckling, Lucas obligingly rubbed right where it meet her body.  "She'll get along great with Darwin, then."

"Yes, something tells me that her preference for humans won't be a problem in her eventual home...Project Anzio, or Stingray, or whatever they're calling it this week," the doctor replied dryly.

Before Lucas could respond, Minerva's tail flashed up out of the water and smacked down hard, covering both humans in water as the dolphins laughed.  By the time he’d managed to spit enough salt water out of his mouth to talk, Lucas had completely forgotten to ask just how it was that Kristin Westphalen knew so much about _seaQuest_.  He was too busy laughing wryly.

"Oh yes, she'll fit right in.  I'm sure she'll have plenty to say once we get this thing reprogrammed."

"Why don't you try it out?" Kristin asked as Darwin chimed in.

"Minerva talk like Darwin?"

Minerva had flipped over and was watching them intently now, Lucas noticed, her dark eyes following every motion of his hands.  She seemed to have figured out that the vocorder did _something_ different, although Lucas was not sure if she understood what.

"That's what we hope, Darwin," Lucas replied.  "Probably not much more than 'hello' right now, though.  We'll have to get a set of flashcards and program the base deck the way we did after that lightning strike a few years ago." Nevertheless, he punched in a couple of numbers, figuring that it was worth a go.  Still…  "The range of signals the digital converter can recognize is pretty narrow right now, and specific to Darwin."

“But it never hurts to try,” Kristin pointed out, poking him in the shoulder.  “Go on.  Give it a shot.  Dolphins are smarter than even you give them credit for, you know.  Perhaps she’ll figure out a way to help.”

 _Why not?_   Lucas took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.  If he was one to back down from a challenge, he would never have created the vocorder in the first place, so there was no use procrastinating.  Failure wasn’t a foreign concept to him—it was just the temporary state that tended to exist before he worked all the kinks of a program out.

"Hello, Minerva.  My name is Lucas," he said into the transmitter, pointing first at her and then himself, and taking care to speak slowly.

She watched him silently, moving her head left and then right, and then cocking it slightly to one side, as if thoughtful.

"That's Darwin, he's a dolphin like you.  And this is Kristin, she's a human like me.  Darwin and Minerva are dolphins, Lucas and Kristin are humans," he said, pointing to each of them in turn again.  He wasn't sure if it was working, but sometimes these things took time, and the program didn't necessarily translate what he was saying literally.

Silence.

“I’m Lucas,” he repeated, pointing at himself.  “You’re Minerva,” he added, pointing back at her. 

More silence.  Minerva did not respond, but something in her eyes told Lucas that she was paying attention.  Or maybe he was imagining things.

 _So much for that idea._ He felt his frustration starting to rise as he punched in a new frequency range, repeating the process with the same results.  "I'm not sure it's working," he sighed, glancing at Kristin.  "We'll have to get a few data samples of her talking to Darwin so I can find her frequency."

Kristin, however, was watching Minerva.  “I’m not so certain…”

Minerva splashed them again, making Darwin whistle gleefully.

"Thanks, Minerva, but I've already had a shower today," he said sarcastically, wiping the water off of his face.  "Darwin, can you ask her if she understands us?"

Darwin didn't even hesitate.  "Minerva understands.  Minerva _play_."

"Minerva play," a second voice echoed a moment later, making Lucas' head snap around in surprise.  "Minerva _play_."

The younger dolphin was giving him a cheerful look that clearly told Lucas she'd just been making him wait for the fun of it.  Her head came up out of the water and smacked down, splashing him again.

"Lucas play."

He sighed theatrically.  "Great, a dolphin with a sense of humor worse than Darwin's."

She bumped his feet with her head next, and none too lightly.  The blow almost made Lucas lose his balance and topple into the bay, and it did make Darwin whistle with more laughter.  His old friend contributed: "Lucas swim!"

"I think what they want is fairly obvious, Lucas." Kristin had wisely pulled her feet out of the water, but was clearly trying not to laugh.

"This is a conspiracy, isn't it?" he asked, but he was grinning despite his frustrations.  He hadn't had a chance to relax like this in ages, and it felt _good_.  He'd missed being Lucas the scientist, and the prospect of having two dolphins on board, even if they had wicked senses of humor, was a pleasant one. 

He slid into the water.  "All right, you two.  Lucas play."

***************************

4 January 2024

The captain frowned, examining the status board.  Construction had fallen behind schedule _again_ ; the experimental bio-skin that the builders claimed to be up to par clearly wasn’t, and they’d torn it off of _Chimera’s_ hull yet again.  That was three tries, now, to duplicate the old _seaQuest’s_ specially designed bio-skin, and no matter how many UEO files they cracked, no one seemed able to duplicate the recipe.  Doctor Hartenstein’s design had come the closest yet, but even it had failed to meld onto _Chimera’s_ titanium hull.

 _Idiots.  All of them._ Perhaps Hartenstein, a recent addition to the design team, might be excepted from that evaluation, but for the most part, Macronesian engineers were a narrow-minded lot.  They were perfectly good in areas they were accustomed to operating in, but take them out of their comfort zones and they became babbling fools.

General Stassi looked over.  “Another failure?”

“Yes.  The technology base exists, but the fools seem incapable of leveraging it correctly.”

“The president won’t like this,” the general pointed out unnecessarily.

“ _I_ don’t like it, General,” the captain retorted.  “It is, however, an unfortunate fact of our existence.  They will simply have to try again.”

"And how much money do you plan on flushing down the drain before you give up, Captain?" he asked.

“I don’t _plan_ on giving up.  If you want the Alliance of Macronesia to rule the seas, you require a submarine capable of enforcing that rule.  _Chimera_ will do that.”  The captain glanced at the plans again, running eager eyes over the warlike lines of the boat.  "There's never been a boat like this one."

Admiration slipped through the cracks of the captain’s ironclad self control, because one could not help feeling awed by a submarine like the one on the other side of the glass window.  _Chimera’s_ skeleton was long since finished; the hull itself was mostly complete, except for the infernal bio-skin.  Designed to be fast and deadly, she was nine hundred feet of pure power _and_ compatible with the new _Lysander_ sub fighters, which she would carry. 

"Macronesia _already_ rules the seas.  The UEO has nothing that can contest our current fleet.  Not since my people took care of _seaQuest_ ," he retorted, clearly not bothering to conceal his own self satisfaction.  Then the general sneered: "This pet project of yours is a waste of valuable resources."

“Not if the UEO builds another one.  They _have_ the capability, even if they lack the willpower.  If that day comes, you will need _Chimera_.  If not, she will cement Macronesia’s absolute rule.  _No one_ will challenge us with a boat like this.”

The fact that President Bourne approved of the project did not require mention; Stassi knew that, and was infuriated by the amount of funding required to build a boat like _Chimera_.  To Stassi, power projection was a function of mere numbers, of by which ratio Macronesia outnumbered their enemies.  He did not understand the psychological importance of building _Chimera_ ; with her, Macronesia would rule the seas with the ease _seaQuest_ had once provided the UEO.  No one would challenge them.  _No one._

"By the time the UEO gets themselves straightened out to make that decision, we'll already have steamrolled them into the ground, Captain.  If we plan on _maintaining_ our power, our focus needs to be on ground forces."

 _Why must we have this argument again?_   “Don’t be foolish.  You and I both know that the president does not intend to conquer the entirety of the UEO, so we must be ready to fight them when they _do_ decide to reengage.  Besides, _I_ am the commander of the submarine fleet, and able to use my budget as I see fit.”

He snorted.  "If you can ever finish your project, you mean.  The president is _not_ pleased with how long you are taking.  Nor does he like to hear that you can't actually deliver any of the technology you claimed you could."

 _“seaQuest_ took six years to build from the time they laid her keel until she was commissioned,” the captain reminded him sharply.  “Warships of this caliber are not completed overnight, _especially_ with substandard engineers assigned to the project.  I have delivered everything I promised, and if you could scrape up _someone_ with enough intelligence to fill the head of a pin, _Chimera_ would be launched within the year.

"The problem is the bio-skin.  None of our engineers can make it work, and the rest of construction is delayed because of that."

That was not something the captain liked admitting, but there was no escaping the truth.  _seaQuest’s_ bio-skin had given the boat a dramatic edge over any foe, allowing damage to seal itself without requiring the crew to physically weld or patch the shattered hull together again, and that was an advantage the captain was determined to duplicate for _Chimera._

A gleam entered the general's eyes.  "Someone who was involved in the _seaQuest_ project, perhaps?"

“We’ve already hired as many of them as we can bribe.”

"Which means it's time to think outside the box, Captain.  I can arrange for my people to...acquire...new talent for you.  Someone who has the necessary knowledge both about _seaQuest's_ original design and the bio-skin."

“Explain.” The captain was not in the mood for games.  Not at all.

"Nathan Bridger."

That made the captain snort.  Bridger had undoubtedly gone back to that island of his after losing the second _seaQuest_ ; some rumors even indicated that he had left the UEO for good after losing the first one and that the UEO had continued building the second one without him.  “And how exactly do you propose to accomplish that? Bridger may have split with the UEO over his dislike of war, but he’s not the type you can bribe, either.”

"Bridger _hasn't_ split with the UEO.  He's working in Pearl Harbor as head of their Weapons and Tactical Development Division," General Stassi replied, sounding smug.

“He’s been _what?_ ”

"Those new intercepts the UEO has been using are his design.  He's got some big weapons project going that we've been trying to get someone into, but we've been hitting brick walls every time," he said.

“I see,” the captain replied slowly, leaning back and studying the general.  “What exactly are you proposing?”

"Bridger has all of the knowledge we need in that head of his.  I already have people in place who could grab him.  If you and your stealth sub are waiting off the coast, they can deliver him to you easily enough," he replied.

“It will take almost a month to get _Spectre_ in place, and then a month to return to Macronesian territory,” the captain replied, biting back the urge to tell Stassi what an idiot he was.  He _did_ have a good idea, even if he had no understanding of navigation at all.  “Perhaps an airlift?”

"I suppose I can have one arranged," the general relented, clearly put out that his grand plan required adjustment.

“Do it.”

***************************

9 January 2024

Riley shifted into the right lane fast enough to jerk Bridger’s head up from the report he was reading, gunning the accelerator and cutting a convertible off to make the next exit.  Nathan opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but never got the chance to ask.  _I’m late enough already, but—_

They were already running late thanks to a lengthy breakfast conversation with Admiral Lexy Smith in a little place off base.  Smith had returned from retirement after the death of her daughter during the Johnston Atoll missile attack and was now the leading member of the strategy board, a job that fit well with her sneaky sense of tactics.  She’d had a few interesting ideas that she wanted to integrate into Operation Wildwood, which led to Nathan leaving the boat just after the work day started to meet with her.

Nathan had enjoyed seeing his old CO again, even if he wished the circumstances had been better.  He remembered all too well the feeling of losing Robert, and admired Smith for having the dedication to step up when she was needed instead of burying her head in the sand.  She would have been well within her rights to do so, after all, having retired ten years ago.  But she, like so many others, had made the hard decision—the _right_ decision, he reminded himself again—to offer her vast wealth of experience to the UEO.  Nathan had barely even realized how much time they spent talking strategy, before it put him two hours behind schedule on everything he had planned on doing that day.  Now, however, Riley seemed determined to delay the start of the day even further.

“You want to get down a bit, Captain?” his driver/security man asked tightly, his voice several octaves higher than Nathan was accustomed to hearing.  “I think we’re being followed.”

“You’re joking.”

 _I do_ not _need this today,_ Nathan thought to himself, the order to ignore whatever was happening and just head for the base on the tip of his tongue.  _I’ve got a boat with a hundred foot hole in her centerline so we can replace some faulty batteries, and I’ve got sea trials starting in ten days.  I don’t have time to play paranoid security games!_

Riley shook his head, and Nathan noticed that his driver was all business; his customarily joking attitude had vanished.  _You always knew he was good, Nathan.  Now here’s when you get to see_ how _good._ “There were three cars following us, but one missed the exit.  The other two are that big blue van and the green SUV—and the SUV has base stickers, so we can’t go there.”

Nathan glanced behind them, and sure enough, there were the two vehicles following them, battling through Monday morning traffic to stay close.  Suddenly things were serious.

“The floor’s yours, MA1,” he told Riley, his heart starting to pound in that familiar pre-combat way he remembered far too well.  “I’m not trained for this business, unless you’ve got a torpedo or two in the trunk.”

“Don’t I wish!” Riley barked out a short laugh.  “That’d be really useful right now.”

“Tell me about it,” Bridger breathed, sneaking another look.

“Sir, will you please keep your head _down_?”

He obeyed, feeling embarrassed.  Slumping in his seat like this felt awkward as hell, but now was not the time to complain.  “Sorry.”

Gunning the accelerator again, Riley made it through the next light right before it could turn red.  The shops and cars outside were whizzing by; Nathan was pretty sure that Riley was paying no attention to the speed limit whatsoever.

 _I suppose getting pulled over right now is the least of our worries!_

Another sharp turn.  “Two down, one to go, Captain.  The van’s gone.”

“Good job.”

“I’m heading back towards the highway.  Best place to lose them, though I’m going to see if I can’t shed them near the shopping centers up ahead, first.   The more cars around, the harder it is for them to follow us,” Riley reasoned.

“You’re the expert.  You want me to call anyone?”

“I hit the beacon.  If that didn’t get through, they’re jamming us, and there’s not much we can do about that.”

“Got it.” Nathan hated feeling helpless, hated being able to do _nothing_.  He hadn’t felt like such a passenger since he’d been stupid enough to agree to staying on board the first _seaQuest_ when he was still determined not to command her.  _Somehow, I don’t see this situation turning out quite like that one,_ the captain thought to himself. 

It took all of his self control to make himself sit still as Riley took another corner faster than the town car wanted to, making the vehicle tip precariously to the right.  Immediately after that, however, Riley had to slam on the brakes to avoid running a red light, and Nathan’s chest slammed hard against his seatbelt as his driver swore quietly.

“You sure these guys are after us?” he had to ask.

“The passenger in the van had a rifle in the front seat, and there’s at least one pistol in the SUV,” Riley replied flatly, crushing Bridger’s hopes.

“Oh.”

On a whim, he pulled out his cell phone.  Nathan _needed_ to do something, anything, to contribute.  Sitting still and doing nothing was going to drive him insane—but the phone’s ‘no signal’ indicator was blinking.  Riley had been right.  Whoever these jokers were, they were carrying a jammer powerful enough to keep them from calling for help.  _This day gets better and better, doesn’t it?_

“Shit,” Riley swore, swerving the car hard to the right. 

Nathan started to twist to look—

 _“Stay down!”_ The car swerved again, taking a sharp left at almost eighty miles per hour.  The engine whined in protest, and then roared as Riley found an emptier side street and gunned it.

Horns blared, and someone’s brakes screeched.  The town car twisted into another turn, making Nathan hold on tight to avoid sliding across the back seat despite the best efforts of his seatbelt.  His mini-comp did, crashing into the back of Riley’s seat with an ominous _crunch_ and then bouncing off of the floor a few times.  His _seaQuest_ ball cap followed it, though Nathan had no idea where that went—and really didn’t care.  Tires squealed as Riley took yet a third turn, and then slowed abruptly as he merged into traffic.

Thirty seconds ticked by, and then a minute.

“I think I lost them,” Riley said breathlessly, and Nathan finally sat up, turning to look out the window.  “We should—”

That was the green SUV tearing towards them.  _“Riley—!”_

He never got a chance to say more; the SUV crashed into the driver’s side of the town car, throwing both of them around like rag dolls.

***************************

Almost a month after the attack, JANS was still trying to put itself back together.  Hudson was back at the decimated naval station, his boat having played courier for desperately needed medical supplies and foodstuffs.  Usually, he detested the idea of using a warship to play delivery boy, but under these circumstances, he was glad to do the job.  He had also volunteered his crew to help with some of the relief efforts.  The UEO still hadn’t been able to spare many resources, and while _Scorpion_ had to get back to patrolling the area, they could afford to spend at least one day helping where they could.

Right now, that mostly meant working on getting the rubble cleared away and adequate housing reestablished.  They had passed the point where anyone expected to find any more survivors, and while the death toll was still slowly climbing, most of the people living on and around the naval station had been accounted for, one way or another.

Navigating his way across the base, he felt like he had been transported back in time to the Second World War.  Many of the buildings were condemned at this point, bombed out and falling down, and in some places the roads were so torn up they could only be traveled on foot.  Almost a hundred years had passed since the atoll had last seen this sort of destruction at the hands of the Japanese.  The comparison, however, only stoked his anger.

 _And I’ll make sure the Macronesians pay just as high a price as the Japanese did,_ he thought darkly.  _This is a UEO base, and I’ll be damned if I let those bastards off easy just because the bureaucrats can’t get their heads out of their asses and make this war official._

Despite what some people claimed, Hudson didn’t _like_ war.  He hated it, in fact, with every fiber of his being.  But he also knew that peace came at a high cost, and someone had to be out there fighting to give others the chance at freedom.  He’d made his choice years ago, before the Treaty of Reykjavik brought an end to World War III.

 _And I haven’t regretted it since.  But if giving up my command and turning in my uniform would end this stupid war with Macronesia before anyone else died, I’d do it in a heartbeat._

“Sir?” Lieutenant Commander Shepps, his XO approached.

“Yeah.”

Hudson turned, tearing his eyes away from the pile of rubble he had been staring at.  Sunset was rapidly approaching, and _Scorpion_ had a scheduled underway time of eight o’clock PM.  He knew what Shepps wanted—his second in command’s facial expression made it adamantly clear that he really wanted his CO to stop staring at the ruins morosely and start being his usual obnoxious self.  Oliver forced himself to smile.

“Am I depressing the crew that much?”

Shepps snorted.  “Just a bit, sir.  It wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t started this wander-and-stare thing two hours ago, but after about ninety minutes of it, they were starting to worry about you.”

“Tell them to worry about the Macronesians.  I’m just grouchy.”  He _was_ touched by his sailors’ concern, but Hudson would never say that.

“Aye, sir.”  Shepps gestured back in the direction of the only pier still standing at JANS.  “The base commander asked if he could come on board for a tour in about an hour.  I told him you’d be waiting.”

Hudson scowled, though not at Shepps’ presumption.  Shepps was doing what a good XO should do, managing his captain’s schedule and keeping Hudson from forgetting anything.  But he hated the idea of giving an admiral a tour of his boat, especially when _Scorpion_ was trying to finish offloading supplies in time to get underway.  He gave Shepps a dirty look, just on principle.

“Next time, Commander, _you_ can give the good admiral a tour.”

Shepps only grinned. 

***************************

Officer Ken Watanabe and his partner John DeSoto were getting their morning coffee when they heard the horrific screeching noise of metal hitting metal.  As a team, they tore away from the Starbucks counter, completely forgetting to pay for the beverages waiting for them, and even knocking one of the cups clean off the counter.   The clerk yelped in surprise, but neither noticed; they were too busy racing out the door and across the parking lot.  Radio in hand, Ken called the accident in to dispatch as John sprinted to their cruiser to grab the emergency medical kit from the trunk.

“Dispatch, this is Car Twelve, we have a two car motor vehicle accident at the corner of Bougainville and Valkenburgh, please send an ambulance to this location.  My partner and I are checking for injuries at this time,” Ken said into the radio, keeping his pace down to a jog so that his words would not be obscured by heavy breathing.

“Roger, Car 12, ambulance is on its way.” He had been a cop for twelve years now, and a first responder for six.  He’d seen his fair share of car accidents, and while each one was different, this was just another routine part of his job.  A horrific part, but still normal enough.

Ken grabbed the oxygen tank his partner had pulled out, and they both turned to head towards the intersection where the accident had happened.  Fifty feet away, he could see that a green SUV had rammed into the side of a dark-colored town car with UEO government plates.  The car had tipped partway onto its passenger side and was crunched enough to indicate that the SUV had hit it at high speed.

While they watched, the driver and passenger of the SUV climbed out and headed towards the car, one headed towards the driver and the other towards the back.  _Must be someone back there.  But at least they’re bothering to check to see that everyone’s okay,_ Ken thought, grateful for the fact that, for once, someone had decided to take responsibility for their actions.  All too often, drivers tried to leave the scene or refused to help anyone except themselves, and Ken was sick and tired of listening to excuses.

The situation was starting to look up, right until he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being fired.

“Shots fired, shots fired!” he yelled into the mike of his radio, diving behind the car that John was already using as cover.  “Damn it!” he swore, dropping the oxygen tank and pulling his sidearm.  Suddenly things weren’t quite so routine any more.

 _Is this what I get for being complacent?_

There was more gunfire, and Ken dared to inch his head up, peering up over the hood of the car.  They were only across the street from the accident, but by some miracle, neither bad guy had turned their way.  Their attention was focused— _oh, shit._ One of the two men from the SUV had pulled the passenger, dressed in Navy khakis, out of the car and had a gun to his head.  The driver of the car was still inside, exchanging fire with the other man from the SUV.

“Damn it,” he swore again, taking careful aim at the man with the hostage.  The bad guy was dressed in black and looked damn serious; although he had an automatic weapon of some sort slung across his back, he was smart enough to use a pistol to threaten the hostage.  Whoever the victim was, he had to be important, if he had a driver.  _An admiral?_ Realization sank in.

“I don’t think they know we’re here,” he said to John.

“I don’t have a shot, Ken,” John replied, his voice tight with tension.  “Not without hitting that sailor.  Shit! The other guy is running!”

“Deal with him,” he told his partner.  “I’ve got the other guy.” Ken narrowed his focus, ignoring the screams from bystanders and the shouting of the men by the two cars.  His radio was crackling and dispatch was asking for more information, but he tuned that out. None of that mattered.  He trusted his partner to handle things, and they’d both been trained to deal with situations like this, even if Ken had never encountered an actual hostage situation.

 _Don’t hesitate,_ he told himself.

Finally, the man with the hostage turned, and Ken took his shot.  _One.  Two._ Blood blossomed on the bad guy’s shirt, and he fell like a ton of bricks, dragging the sailor down with him. 

 


	13. Into the Abyss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating. Robin and I have been...distracted...by another project. We've still got plenty more of Freedom written, and we're definitely going to finish the story, so never fear! We're just not writing quite as quickly as we first were.

9 January 2024

“Commander Hitchcock, this is Lieutenant Hackney over at base security,” the young officer on the other end of the video link told her, sounding almost bored. 

“Yes?” Katie didn’t mean to sound so short, but she had a senior V.P.  from General Dynamics waiting on the other line, because the giant corporation _still_ couldn’t get it through their thick skulls that _seaQuest’s_ upcoming sea trials were going to be run by the military, and no extraneous passengers would be allowed, even if their company _had_ designed and installed several major pieces of equipment.

“Ma’am, I’ve received a report of a motor vehicle accident involving a member of your…crew.  I tried to call the Weapons and Tactical Development Division, but they forwarded me to you,” Hackney replied, looking down at a readout beyond the screen’s pickup.  “A Captain Bridger and an MA1 Riley have been taken to Pali Momi Medical Center by local paramedic units.”

Katie felt her jaw drop open, all feelings of annoyance forgotten.  “Taken to _where?_ ”

“To Pali Momi Medical Center,” Hackney replied, still sounding blasé.  “I have no further information at this time.”

“You have no further information?” she repeated, trying not to spit fire at the unconcerned lieutenant.  _It’s not his fault, Katie,_ she told herself, trying to ignore the sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.  _It’s not_ his _fault._

“No, ma’am.  I suggest you call the hospital.”

“I’ll—” she started hotly, and then forced herself to stop.  “Thank you.”

Katie cut the connection before she could say anything nastier, and, ignoring the waiting call, punched up the number for Pali Momi Medical Center with one hand while grabbing her PAL in the other.  “EWO, XO, please come to my stateroom.”

Thankfully, now that the boat’s internal communications systems were up and running, Lucas was a lot easier to find.  And he was a lot more prompt these days—in fact, Katie had hardly experienced a problem with him, despite what Tim had told her about Lucas’ earlier deficiencies.  The answer came almost immediately:

“On my way.”

As she put the PAL down, the vidlink connected.  “Pali Momi Medical Center, how may I direct your call?”

“I’ve just been notified that you have a Nathan Bridger as a patient. He was in a car accident earlier this morning,” Katie said, plastering her ‘nice’ smile on while she silently berated herself. _I should have asked what time. He was supposed to be in an hour ago, judging from what time he called me at and said he was leaving his meeting._ “I’d like to know what his condition is, and what room number he is in so that I can send someone in to see him.”

“I’m afraid that I can’t reveal that information,” the woman on the other end of the connection told her primly.

“Ma’am, Captain Bridger is an officer in the UEO Navy,” she replied, trying to fight down a growing feeling of dread.  “We need to know his location and his condition.”

“Are you his commanding officer?”

Katie blinked.  “No.”

“Then I am afraid that I cannot give you any information.”  The woman moved to cut the connection, but Katie managed to get in first.

“Wait!  He’s _my_ commanding officer.  I am his Executive Officer, or second-in-command,” she explained.  “Captain Bridger is involved in an important project for the UEO, and _I_ need to call his boss to give him an update.  Please give me some information so that I can pass it along.”

The woman scowled at her, but relented.  “His condition is stable, and he is in the ER.  That is all I can say.  Good day.”

The UEO logo flashed back up on the screen, but before Katie could really get her temper worked up, a knock came on her stateroom door.  She forced in a deep breath:  “Enter!”

"You wanted to see me, Commander?" Lucas asked, coming into the room.

"Sit down, Lucas," Katie said, her voice suddenly heavy.  _He's going to take this even worse than I did._

Lucas took a seat, looking worried.  "Did I do something wrong?"

"No." She shook her head.  "No, not you.  I just—I just got a call from base security."

Usually, Katie didn't have a problem telling people what to do, but at the moment, she felt rather lost.  _How do I tell_ him _this? Hell, Lucas might as well be listed as the captain's next of kin, and everyone on this boat knows that Lucas thinks of Bridger more as his dad than the lackwit who actually has that biological distinction._ Katie forced the thoughts aside with an effort, swallowing hard to keep her own emotions in check.

"Base security?" he asked, sounding even more confused.  Then comprehension seemed to dawn on his face.  "Look, Commander, I can explain," he started to say.

Katie held up a hand, feeling normal for just a moment.  "I don't want to know whatever it was you were doing."

“Then what’s going on?”

"There was...an accident.  A car accident,” she clarified, forcing her voice to come out levelly.  “The captain's in the hospital."

She watched the color drain out of his face.  "What? When? What happened?"

"This morning.  I don't know where or what...just that he's in the ER at Pali Momi Medical Center.  I need to send someone from the crew over to find out...and I thought I'd send you."

He nodded, looking stunned.

She burned to go herself, of course, but if Bridger wasn’t going to be there, Katie had to run the sea trials teleconference that started in less than thirty minutes, hammering out which contractors would be able to come and which ones would have to stay ashore.  Besides which, she knew that Lucas wouldn’t be able to get any work done in the meantime, so she might as well kill two birds with one stone.

"He's in stable condition," Katie added belatedly, wishing she'd remembered to say so sooner—maybe then Lucas would not look so sick to his stomach.  "Are you okay to drive yourself?"

"I don't have a car," was his response, and he sounded so _young_.  Not like the officer she had been watching him grow into—this was the sometimes-scared kid Katie remembered from their first tour.

She pulled the keys out of her desk drawer and handed them to him.  "You can take mine.  You know what it looks like?"

More than anything, she really just wanted to hug him, but XOs weren't supposed to hug their junior officers.  She could, however, make a mental note to tell Ben, who would make sure to look out for Lucas if things got bad.

"The silver Mercedes, right?" he asked.

"Yeah.  Try not to wreck it, will you?" she said, trying to make her voice sound light and failing.

He managed a weak grin in reply.  "Yes, Mom."

“Don’t forget to be home for dinner,” Katie told him, going along with the joke.  Then her voice turned serious.  “Now get out of here, and call me when you know something.”

Lucas nodded again before he left, and was out the door before Katie could blink.

***************************

 _He’s stable,_ Lucas had to keep reminding himself.  He’d been whispering it as a mantra all the way up the freeway and the entire time he had been fighting with a receptionist, until she had finally told him where the captain was.

He practically ran down the hallways of the hospital, earning a sharp warning from one of the nurses, but he barely slowed, tossing a short apology over his shoulder.  Next, he almost collided with a man pushing a cart of cleaning supplies; Lucas danced aside and ignored the swearing.  He had more important things to do.  _If the XO says he’s stable, then he’s stable_ , he told himself firmly, but the thought really didn’t help.

 **401D**.  Skidding to a stop, Lucas read the room number again, just to be sure.  **401D.** Yes, this was the room Captain Bridger had been sent to after being cleared from the emergency room.  He took a deep breath, swallowing hard, and entered the room.

The captain was dressed only in a flimsy hospital gown, a blanket pulled up around his waist.  The bed was raised, and Lucas could make out bandages around his shoulder, peeking out at the neck.  His left arm was in a sling, too, secured tightly against his chest.  A machine beeped in the corner and an IV line ran into his arm.  He was pale, and his eyes were closed, and for a long moment Lucas feared the worst.

 _That’s a heart monitor,_ his mind helpfully kicked in.  _And you can see for yourself his pulse is almost normal, and he’s obviously breathing.  Stop acting like a baby._

“Captain?” he asked softly, not wanting to wake him up if he was asleep.  Speaking was harder than he’d expected; his throat was suddenly bone-dry.

A moment passed before Bridger opened his eyes.  "Hey, kiddo."

He swallowed hard, feeling weak as relief rushed through him.  "What happened?"

"Nothing good." Bridger reached up to rub his hands over his face, then looked down with a mixture of annoyance and confusion when his left arm didn't move.  The captain sighed.  "Car accident," he finally said.  "Got T-boned by...an SUV, I think."

"They told me Petty Officer Riley was in surgery, but they didn't know anything more than that," he said, pulling a chair over to sit next to the captain's bed.

"That's about as much as they've told me.  I've been here a half an hour or so, and they've spent most of the time poking and prodding, not answering my questions."

There was something slightly guarded in the captain's expression, though, something Lucas could not quite pinpoint.

"What happened to your shoulder?"

"Umm..." Bridger trailed off, but was saved from answering when a nurse's angry voice grabbed Lucas' attention.

She was short, cute, and standing outside the captain's room with her hands on her hips.  "You can't _stay_ there."

At first, Lucas thought she might be talking to him, until he followed her gaze.  _Where did they come from?_ There were two uniformed Marines standing outside the door where no one had been just two minutes earlier.  _I didn't know Marines could be so quiet,_ was the first thought that came to the surface of Lucas' confused mind.

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but we were given orders by Admiral O'Malley.  Until Captain Bridger can be transferred to a military facility, we are responsible for his security,” one of the Marines replied politely.  Lucas ignored the nurse's indignant response about how she was going to tell her superiors—knowing the Marines, it wouldn't do her much good

Bridger sighed, following the nurse tiredly with his eyes.  But he only frowned instead of replying to Lucas’ question.

Before Lucas could ask the captain again, a police officer entered the room.  "Captain Bridger?" he asked.

"Last I checked."

"My name's Ken Watanabe, one of the nurses down in the ER told me where to find you.  I just wanted to see how you were doing, and apologize for winging you with that bullet," the officer said.

Lucas felt like the breath had been knocked out of him.  "Bullet?" he asked incredulously.  “Why would you need to be shooting at anyone at a _car accident_?"

Bridger's face took on a look of exasperation that Lucas had not seen since he was sixteen.  "Officer Watanabe, allow me to introduce you to Lieutenant Wolenczak, my Electronics Warfare Officer," he said, and then sighed again.  "And there's no apology necessary.  You were...just doing your job, even if my shoulder doesn't thank you for it."

Watanabe offered out a hand to Lucas.  He had to remind himself to shake it.  His mind was still stuck on _bullet_.  Even though he could tell from the look on Bridger’s face that he didn’t want to talk about this subject, Lucas had to ask: "Captain, what really happened?"

"I _will_ need an official statement from you, sir," Watanabe added.

The look the captain gave the officer was suddenly anything but friendly—had Lucas not known him so well, he might have thought he was just mildly annoyed, but he recognized the look in Bridger's eyes.  He sighed again, and answered them both.  "It wasn't just a car accident.  Someone decided to tail me to work this morning, and Riley—my driver—tried to lose them.  We thought we had, until they came out of nowhere and hit us."

Watanabe had flipped out a pad of paper, giving the captain an expectant look.  "Any reason why someone would come after you like this? Enemies?"

 _Enemies? Try all of Macronesia,_ Lucas thought acidly.  He was just glad he was already sitting down, and that he wasn’t expected to answer right now—otherwise, he might have said something that they’d all regret.  The police officer might not know why someone would go after the captain, but Lucas had a few good guesses.

“Nothing that comes to mind at the moment, no,” Bridger evaded.  Unfortunately, he did not do so very well—and it was obvious that the police officer did not believe him any more than Lucas did.  _Then again, Macronesia might have reasons not to like him, but why would they go after him?_ Clearly, Lucas was missing something.

Watanabe frowned deeply.  "You understand that this could be considered hindering a police investigation, don't you, Captain?"

"Officer Watanabe, I'm really not trying to be difficult.  Unfortunately, I am working on a highly classified project, so the number of answers I can give you is extremely limited," the captain replied.

"Classified project or not, those men were trying to kidnap you.  And since they're both dead, you're going to have to start answering some questions so we can figure out who was behind this," Watanabe said.

Lucas felt his eyes go wide.  _Kidnap?_ He wasn't sure if that idea was more terrifying than the idea of someone trying to kill the captain.

Bridger scraped a hand over his face again.  "Look, I can tell you that I'm the head of the UEO's Weapons and Tactical Development Division.  Does that answer your question?"

Watanabe jotted the information down, but before he could ask another question, something crackled across his radio.  Lucas couldn't understand it, but Watanabe obviously did.  "Excuse me," he said, stepping out of the hospital room.

"Go ahead and ask, Lucas,” Bridger said as soon as he was gone, clearly knowing that he was about to explode.

" _Kidnapping?_ " he burst out.  Maybe it wasn't the most elegant thing he could have asked, but it got his point across well enough.

Bridger shrugged, one-shouldered.  "Beats me, Lucas.  If it were war time, I'd call me a legitimate target.  Since we're not officially at war...I don't know what to call it."

"Do you think someone knows about...?"

"I don't know.  I hope not.  Frankly, the other projects I've been involved in are probably enough to get Macronesia's attention, assuming they know what my... _official_ job title is."

"But why kidnap you? Why not just..." He couldn't make himself say the words, and his stomach tightened just at the thought.  The next words came out in a babble: "I mean, I'm glad that's what they were trying to do instead, because if they were trying to do the other thing..."

"I'd be dead, yeah."

Lucas swallowed hard.  "Yeah.  That."

"Sorry," the captain smiled wanly as he apologized.  "I don't think having a concussion does much for my manners."

"A concussion and a gunshot wound.  What else happened?" he asked, trying to force away the mental image of Captain Bridger lying lifeless on the ground.

"It's not much of a gunshot wound, Lucas.  The concussion is from the accident—and so's most of the damage to my shoulder, I think.  I've done worse falling off my motorcycle."

"Your motorcycle doesn't purposely try and hurt you, sir," Lucas replied.

The captain chuckled.  "I'll grant you that one."  But when Lucas gave him a look, he continued: "I'll be fine, Lucas.  I'm a little banged up, but I'll be fine.”

"You scared me," he admitted softly, suddenly feeling very young.  "When Commander Hitchcock told me you'd been in an accident..."

Bridger reached out and squeezed his shoulder briefly.  "Scared me, too, to be honest.  But I'm all right."

Lucas didn't have a chance to embarrass himself further before Officer Watanabe came back into the room, looking rather displeased, but trying to cover it.  "I've just been informed that your case will be handed over to NCIS."

 _I guess that makes sense._ Lucas hadn't ever needed to deal with the Naval Criminal Investigative Services during his short time in the Navy, but he figured they would be the best people to deal with the top secret nature of the captain's current role.  _At least they probably have security clearances,_ he figured. 

"Thank you for informing me," the captain said, wearing now what Lucas had long ago termed his 'professional' face.  "And thank you for your excellent timing.  You saved my life."

"Simply doing my job," Watanabe replied, his tone cool.  _He’s definitely not happy._

"Thank you, anyway," Bridger said politely, but Lucas could tell that he meant it.

Watanabe nodded and left them alone again.

"I should probably go call the XO and tell her you're okay," Lucas said, after a moment of comfortable silence.

"Probably a good idea, yeah.  Tell her I'll be at work tomorrow, assuming they let me out of here."

Lucas nodded, leaving the captain to rest while he found a private area to make his call.

***************************

Setting up a secure vidlink in the middle of a civilian hospital turned out to be a lot harder than Nathan thought it would be, even if the process did pale in comparison with the effort it took to pry his mini-comp out of the hands of the police department.  Eventually, Nathan had been forced to enlist two NCIS agents, who had both reacquired the mini-comp (half-destroyed though it was; Nathan would have to give it to Lucas to have even half a chance of getting the data off of it) and set up a secure line for him.

From what Katie had said in their brief phone conversation following Lucas’ departure, Admiral Noyce had called the boat no less than four times since Katie had notified him, so Nathan figured that he should give his friend a call.

Besides, Bill was officially his direct superior, so he probably ought to call him on that count, too.  _I may break rules from time to time, but this is one time I’ll be happy to call my boss,_ Nathan thought tiredly.  And at least _seaQuest’s_ unique condition meant he wasn’t working for some squadron commander who had been in the Navy ten years less than he had—hell, he’d taught a few of them at the Academy, oh so many years ago.  He couldn’t really imagine having this conversation with anyone other than a friend.

Bill must have been sitting on the phone, though, because he picked up almost as soon as Nathan finished dialing.

"What the hell happened, Nathan?" Bill asked, not even bothering to say hello.

"Hi to you, too, Bill."

He knew he looked like hell, with his arm still in a sling and a bandage around his head (why that was there, Nathan wasn't sure; the bleeding had been minor, and had already stopped), but it was nice to talk to someone who he didn't have to be strong for.  Bill wasn't Lucas, and Nathan didn't feel obligated to look all upbeat and positive for his friend.  Or for his boss.

Fortunately for the way his head ached at the moment, those two were the same person.  Nathan didn’t think he could take more than one conversation at the moment.

"Yes, hello.  And I'm glad to see you're alive.  What happened?" the admiral demanded brusquely.

"Apparently someone wanted to kidnap me.  I think we can both guess who.  And why." Keeping his sentence short seemed to keep his head from pounding so much.  "Riley—my driver—was shot.  He came out of surgery a little while ago, but they don't think he's going to make it.  I got winged by the cop who shot the guy grabbing me."

Bill sighed, his eyes full of concern.  "O'Malley said he already has Marines in places.  Damn it, Nathan."

"You're telling me, Bill.  I'm the one sitting here in a hospital bed." Now he could finally let his frustration out a bit.  "I have no idea what they were looking for, and I doubt we'll find out.  The police killed both of them."

"I'd rather have them dead than you," Bill replied.

“Me, too.  Obviously." Nathan leaned back against the pillows and winced slightly.  They'd given him some fairly strong painkillers, but apparently it wasn't enough to make his bruised ribs stop complaining.

Bill was frowning at him.  _This can't be good._ "I'm going to have to tell Secretary McGath."

"What? I'm just a captain, Bill."  Of course, even as he made the argument, he knew it would fly about as well as a lead balloon, but Nathan had to try.

"You're not just a captain, and we both know it.  You'll be lucky if you're allowed off that boat of yours anymore."

"Thanks a lot, Bill.  That really makes my day."  Maybe he shouldn't have let his tone be quite so sharp, but Nathan felt like crap, and really didn't feel like arguing.

"I'd apologize, Nathan, but I'm inclined to agree.  You're too close to being ready to take stupid risks," Bill stressed.

"I wasn't taking stupid _risks_ , Bill.  I went out to breakfast to discuss _work,_ " he snapped.

"You can get breakfast on base," his old friend replied peevishly.

He glared.  "Tell that to Lexy Smith.  Besides, how the hell was I supposed to know that Macronesia would decide to kidnap me?" Nathan continued angrily.  "If there's been any security warnings about something like this, no one let me in on the secret."

Bill scowled.  "Calm down before you give yourself an aneurism."

"More like you'll give me one."

"Don't be dramatic, Nathan.  But you _do_ need to be more careful," he warned. Again.

"I think I got the memo on that one, Bill," he groused, glaring at the nurse when she came in to swap out his IV.  Fortunately, she just went about her business and ignored him.  _Smart girl._ In the meanwhile, of course, the admiral just kept shooting him a look that told Nathan he deserved every bit of misery he was getting—and that Noyce would _help_ the hospital keep him under wraps for as long as they wanted to.  Finally, she left, and Nathan sighed.  " _Do_ you think anything leaked on the project, Bill, or is this just some screwed up coincidence?"

"We have to assume it isn't a coincidence," Bill said, sounding tired.

"Yeah, I know." Whatever IV she'd changed, it wasn't his painkillers, because his head was really starting to pound.  _At least I'm not seeing double, anymore,_ Nathan told himself.  That had to be an improvement.

Bill started looking worried as Nathan shifted again, trying to find a comfortable position.  "How are you feeling, anyway?"

"Like shit," Nathan replied bluntly.  _Definitely not how I'd phrase it for Lucas._ "But I'll live."

"Good.  I'd hate to have to find a replacement for you."

"Ah, that's big of you.  Thanks."

"I've spent thirty years training you up, Nathan," Bill teased, though his expression was still concerned.

"Yeah, yeah.  Don't pat yourself on the back _too_ hard.  You might break your arm." But he smiled despite the pain in his head.  Sometimes, it was nice not to be ‘the captain’, and just talk to a friend.

"You should get some rest.  I'll call you later."

"You can call me back after you've figured out a way to get me out of this place.  I'm going to go crazy if those NCIS guys come back again, Bill— _they're_ not cleared for my projects, and they know it, yet they keep asking," he replied peevishly.  "And I've got work to do."

"Take today to rest, Nathan.  Your crew can handle things for one day," the admiral said, but before Bridger could argue, he added: "And I'll talk to someone about getting you released into Kristin's care, if that will shut you up."

"It might." The thought made Nathan chuckle, though.  "A little."

Bill just rolled his eyes.  "I'll talk to you later."

“Right,” he replied, and cut the connection.  There were only about a thousand things he _could_ be doing at the moment, but with his mini-comp destroyed, Nathan really couldn’t do much.  Most of what he _did_ need to do was on the boat, anyway, and though he knew Katie would handle things just fine in his absence, staying still drove him crazy—no matter how crappy he felt.  However, at least the nurse had told him earlier that he was okay to get some sleep now—apparently that wasn’t something you were supposed to do right after getting a concussion—so Nathan finally decided to give into the urge and get some shut-eye.

***************************

11 January 2024

President Bourne was furious, but at the moment, General Stassi would much rather be dealing with _him_.  The captain had very nearly attacked Stassi when they had gotten word the plan had failed, although the other _had_ managed to stop before doing something so monumentally stupid.  Only the president’s timely call had saved him from further argument, which Stassi did _not_ want to endure, because no matter what the captain’s official rank was, the other officer did command the entire Macronesian submarine fleet…for the moment.

“Would you care to explain why this ‘fool proof’ plan of yours failed, General?” President Bourne asked acidly.

Stassi could not remember the last time he had seen Bourne so angry—usually, the president was a collected individual who took even the greatest setbacks in stride, willing to wait until the next opportunity presented itself.  He contemplated hedging, and even trying to shift blame onto someone else…but no.  Doing so would only lessen himself in Bourne’s eyes.

“Bridger’s driver caught sight of his tails.  My men managed to kill him,” Stassi replied honestly.

“We don’t care about his _driver_ , General,” the captain snarled.

“Hush.  You’ll have your chance to speak, Captain,” the president chastised.  He sounded rather like an irate schoolmaster chiding two unruly students, not the president of one of the most powerful confederations in the world berating his two top military officials.

 _I still don’t know why the president keeps a psychopath like this around,_ he thought to himself, glaring at the naval officer.

“They will have increased security by now,” President Bourne continued mournfully.  “I suggest the two of you find some other way to get the information we need.  Bridger is no longer an option.”

“There are plenty of others who will be far less guarded.  Bridger didn’t develop the bio-skin technology on his own,” the general replied.  “With your permission, sir, I can send my men to bring one of them back to our facilities.”

The president surveyed him critically.  “I am not in the habit of granting second chances, General.  I am granting you leniency this time only because the captain’s scientists have failed in every attempt to duplicate the production process.  But know this—if you fail me again, I _will_ find someone to replace you.  Someone who _will_ succeed.”

Stassi had to swallow hard before he could reply, ignoring the smirk on the captain’s face.  “Yes, sir.”

***************************

“All right, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got eight days left before sea trials, and right now, it looks like we’re going to get underway on schedule,” the captain said to kick off the meeting, and all of _seaQuest’s_ officers exchanged smiles.  Truth be told, they hadn’t been sure they’d make it—and there had been times that Tim had been quite positive that they _wouldn’t_.  The number of gargantuan tasks they had completed since launching was mind-boggling, and he was still surprised by the fact that they’d somehow gotten ahead of schedule.

Tim snuck a glance at the Captain.  Bridger had missed work the day before and was back today, probably against doctor’s orders.  The incident had shaken the entire crew, but the captain _looked_ okay, if one discounted the bruises on his forehead and the fact that his left arm was in a sling.  Judging from what Brad had said earlier, though, the sling hadn’t kept Bridger from crawling into a few bilges down in Auxiliary Machinery Room 1, which meant that life was pretty much back to normal, despite the scare.

“I won’t bore you with the schedule,” the captain continued, nodding towards Katie.  “The XO can do that later.  For now, though, I’d like to give you an update on exactly what we’ll be doing:

“First, the UEO has decided to send a team of ten Navy inspectors out with us.  Their job will be to evaluate the boat like an old-style INSURV team and determine if she is ready to be accepted for service in the Navy.  They _won’t_ be evaluating us, or our performance, since none of them are qualified to operate _seaQuest_.  That’s our business.

“Furthermore, we’ll be bringing one hundred and four contractors of various flavors with us, mostly to operate and/or test equipment, but also to do repairs if and when we break something.  I don’t want the crew to be caught up in doing tests for the inspectors—our job is to operate the boat, and to learn how to fix her when she breaks.  Our main goal for trials is to get to know our boat, because we can’t count on having a lot of opportunities to test her out after commissioning…especially if tensions with Macronesia continue to worsen.”

Hearing those words made Tim swallow; he hadn’t been in the Navy when World War III ended, but from the way Macronesia was acting, the Pacific Alliance really wanted to ignite World War IV.  He’d seen combat during his tours on the first _seaQuest_ , first with Captain Stark and then with Captain Bridger, but he’d never relished it.  Tim had even been in a few battles on board _Valiant_ , the sub he’d been assigned to before Bridger snatched him back, so he was hardly out of the loop…but that wasn’t the same as looking forward to jumping off the deep end.

Intellectually, he had known that he would eventually be in the thick of things with this _seaQuest_ , but somehow the facts just hadn’t sunk in until now.

“I won’t lie to you,” Bridger said quietly, meeting each set of eyes in turn.  “Our job is to get out there before things get too bad, and I _hope_ that _seaQuest’s_ presence can inject some sanity into this situation before it goes haywire.”  The captain paused, and Tim thought he looked sad.

“But I think it might be too late for that.”

 


	14. Shift Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin offers her apologies on why this chapter has taken so long in the coming--it's been written for a while, but we both got distracted by other writing projects, as well as school for her and work for me. But we're hoping to get ourselves back on track, so I hope you enjoy the latest installment!

19 January 2024 – UEO  _ seaQuest  _ Sea Trials, Day 1

 _seaQuest_ was now what the Navy called "in commission special", which meant that although she was not officially a warship of the UEO, she would still function as one until the actual commissioning ceremony rolled around. The first _seaQuest_ hadn't gone through a process quite like this—Tim had been a member of her crew, too, and remembered an entirely different process, one in which the shipbuilders took her out on what was then called "acceptance trials" and the Navy merely came along to watch the boat put through her paces and note any systems that did not meet their requirements.

This time, however, the crew was almost entirely responsible for the boat, even if contractors were going to demonstrate most of the equipment checks. Still, they were actually operating _seaQuest_ , which meant everyone was running around as pre-underway nervous wrecks, trying to get everything done for the very first time, and often creating the checklists for tasks as they went. Tim, on the other hand, had drawn the short straw, and was waiting on the Quarterdeck for the Navy's senior inspector to arrive.

Tim _did_ own the Navigation systems, of course, but they'd checked out clean an hour ago while Ben was still struggling to get enough food for lunch and dinner onloaded, so he'd wound up taking Ben's place. Although _seaQuest_ was only supposed to be underway for the day, they had to have enough food to feed the hundred-plus contractors and Navy inspectors in addition to her regular crew of 209, which meant Ben's day had gone straight to hell right when the supply truck had failed to show at four that morning.

"Quarterdeck, Checkpoint Two," the Officer of the Deck's radio crackled. "The Navy Inspection team has just passed through security and is on their way to you."

"Officer of the Deck, aye," the OOD replied promptly, and then turned to Tim, who was standing only a few feet away. "Did you catch that, sir?"

"Yup. When you see him in the tube, go ahead and bong him aboard," Tim replied, shifting impatiently. His systems might have checked out just fine, but he still had about a hundred things to do before they got underway, and waiting here didn't get his jobs done.

Of course, what _seaQuest_ called the Quarterdeck was really boat bay 2, on the starboard side. They'd just connected a personnel tube to where small craft usually docked, since the drydock had stayed full of water since launching, and the OOD should be able to see the senior inspector approaching in plenty of time.

Tim wasn't looking forward to this meeting at all. He remembered Captain Clayton all too well from the last time the inspector had visited _seaQuest_. And while Captain Bridger had gotten the best of him in the end and _seaQuest_ had passed with flying colors, the crew and the boat weren't nearly as prepared this time for such scrutiny. _Not when the contractors are_ still _assembling my backup navigation computers, along with several other systems, we aren't ready!_

And of course, as the Operations department head, a great deal of the preparation fell on Tim's head. If nothing went wrong, they could probably squeak by with marginal ratings in his areas, but so much of his equipment was newly installed and barely tested that Tim thought getting even marginal ratings might be a miracle. Lately, everything had been going wrong, and Tim's nerves had started getting the better of him.

He had gotten used to the captain and the XO demanding things of him left and right, and the heady feeling of the crew listening to him when he gave orders. He'd even found that he liked being in charge, and really felt that he had grown as an officer in many ways over the last several months he'd been back on _seaQuest_.

But Captain Clayton was, for lack of better word, a hard ass. If things weren't done precisely to his specifications, _seaQuest_ would never hear the end of it. Tim could still remember the way Captain Clayton had yelled at him the last time for offering a less than literal translation of an incoming communication, and the inspector had been even worse to the senior members of the crew. Now that he was one of those senior department heads, Tim found himself more than a little apprehensive. He _was_ more assertive than he'd been, but he wasn't the type to go toe-to-toe with Clayton, either.

He just hoped his nervous stutter wouldn't make an unfortunate reappearance.

 _Stop being so nervous!_ Tim told himself firmly. _The man probably doesn't even remember you, and if he does, that's just too bad._ Resolutely, he turned away to give the Quarterdeck a quick once over—as the Operations Officer, the launch bays were his responsibility—but everything looked fine. The OOD caught a glimpse of Clayton before Tim turned back towards the tube, and immediately struck the bell four times, in pairs of two, "bonging" Captain Clayton on board in accordance with Navy regulations.

 _Ding ding, ding ding._ "Captain, UEO Navy, arriving," the OOD announced over the 1MC.

Clayton came through the tube wearing his customary scowl, and Tim could tell that he was just waiting to find _something_ to gripe about.

Tim shifted to attention as he came on board, but after a moment, he stepped forward, offering him a hand. "Welcome aboard, sir. I'm Lieutenant Commander O'Neill, Operations Officer. I'll be in charge of seeing you around the boat."

"Thank you, Commander." At least Clayton's first words were polite. "I trust there's someplace for my team to make themselves at home while you complete pre-underway checks?"

"Yes, sir. Refreshments are ready in the conference room, if you'll just follow me," Tim replied, trying not to hold his breath. Of course, the sudden realization that he hadn't stopped to check the conference room made his stomach tie itself in a knot, though Tim plastered a confident smile on his face, anyway. _Ben, you better have those refreshments ready!_

Along the way, Clayton only found five or six things to complain, but by the time they arrived at the spacious conference room, Tim was ready to bash his head into the wall. The other ten members of Clayton's team seemed to take their cue from the captain, and were proving obnoxious already. Some of their complaints were legitimate—Tim was rather certain that Williams hadn't noticed the broken electrical panel cover in the passageway outside the conference room, for example—but others were just plain nitpicking. After all, who cared if the paint in one passageway was a slightly different color from the one around the corner from it? _seaQuest_ was supposed to be a warship, not a fashion show.

Tim was relieved to see that the food had been laid out as he led them into the room. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. I'll be happy to answer any questions you have from your informational packets." _Happy_ wasn't exactly what Tim would be, but he was struggling to appear friendly and helpful. He just wasn't naturally charming like some of his fellow officers.

"I'd have been a lot happier if these were distributed to us _before_ coming aboard," Clayton retorted peevishly.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm sure you understand that with the level of security surrounding _seaQuest_ , this information couldn't be distributed any earlier than absolutely necessary," Tim responded soothingly. A few weeks ago, Tim might have found the security restraints somewhat ridiculous, but after what had happened to the captain just ten days before, he was starting to understand the reasons why the UEO was keeping such a tight lid on _seaQuest_.

"That's not my problem, Commander," the captain snapped. "But it will be likely to adversely affect your crew's ratings."

The urge to point out that Clayton wasn't there to evaluate the crew was overwhelming, but Tim bit it back. Clayton was the sort of man who probably wouldn't be averse to highlighting every single flaw that the boat had, no matter how minor, if he didn't approve of her crew. "Yes, sir," he replied instead, keeping his tone as neutral and un-antagonistic as he could manage.

"Now, I'd like to be escorted to the bridge. Immediately." Clayton had barely even given the information packet a glance, and he didn't bother to bring it with him, either.

Tim resisted the urge to sigh, but he led the inspector towards the bridge, answering what questions he could along the way. _This is going to be a long inspection,_ he thought, trying not to feel relieved when Captain Clayton set his sights on the XO instead of Tim. At least now he could just watch the massacre, and Katie had always been better at fighting back than he was.

* * *

"Now go to your stations, all the special Sea and Anchor detail," the Chief of the Watch announced on the 1MC. "Now go to your stations, all the special Sea and Anchor detail."

Katie, as the XO, was running the underway check-off list, which left Nathan with very little to do aside from watch, but he was perfectly happy with that situation. So far, most systems had lit off without much difficulty, although Lucas was half-under the communications console trying to figure out why a few communications frequencies had suddenly refused to come up. Normally, Nathan would have been more than happy to get underway with a few comms limitations, but 'Navy Red' was one of the frequencies that wasn't working, and since that was the backbone of long-range fleet communications, leaving Pearl without it working was definitely not an option.

"Got it!" Lucas called, earning him a dirty look from Chris Schafer. There was still some bad blood brewing between the two of them, but Nathan figured they'd work it out on their own—or Katie would force them to work it out, which would be less pleasant, but no less effective. Personnel problems were mostly her job, anyway, and Nathan was determined to stay out of this one. He was too biased, and he knew it.

"Good job," Nathan said before Schafer could reply; they had both been standing and watching while Lucas worked, and although he thought that the new Communications Officer would be on his best behavior with his captain standing next to him, Nathan couldn't be sure.

"Communications up and nominal, XO," Schafer reported instead, after running a quick diagnostic on the system.

Katie checked that one off on her list. "Very well. Engineering?"

"Both reactors online and jacking gears disengaged," Henderson replied as Lucas headed back to his own console. "Impellers are spinning with buckets in neutral. Ready to answer all bells. Standing by transfer control to the helm in accordance with EOP."

"Transfer control."

"Transfer control, aye," the young ensign replied, the professionalism in her voice impressing Nathan. _Katie was right. When Lonnie's not preoccupied with her own nerves, she's pretty good._ He'd spent most of his career shepherding along talented junior officers, and had no intention of stopping now. Clearly, he needed to keep watching Henderson—and watching out for her career. There was a lot of potential there, and Henderson would go far if properly focused. She turned to face the helm. "Chief Carleton?"

"Accepting control," the diving officer replied immediately, watching his two main helmsmen as they hit the appropriate keys and then tested the system for the appropriate response. "Helm has throttle and bucket control."

Nathan bent over to watch the process on one of the nearby consoles; his crew was trained and ready, and they didn't need their captain getting in their business during routine operations, even if this was the first time they'd executed these orders for real. So far, he was rather satisfied with how well he'd stayed out of the way—while he burned to get in the weeds and start up every system himself, doing so was not his job.

Besides, his ribs were starting to ache again, and bending over made the pain recede a little bit. Although he had been so busy that it seemed like the accident had occurred a lifetime ago, his body had a habit of reminding Nathan that it had only been ten days. The bouts of dizziness due to his concussion had disappeared, at least, and although he was still suffering from random headaches, he was in pretty good shape. And having to leave his left arm in a sling kept him from getting involved in the hitting of buttons, for which his crew was probably thankful.

Before Katie could reply to Carleton's statement, Nathan heard a familiar voice speak to her. "I assume you're the XO of this boat, Commander?"

"Captain Clayton, it's nice to have you back on board _seaQuest_ ," Hitchcock said smoothly, switching from cool and professional to friendly and welcoming, yet still professional. Her attitude change, however, seemed to go unnoticed. As did Bridger, since the console he was behind obscured Clayton's view of him.

"As you probably know, I am the senior Navy inspector," the burly officer introduced himself unnecessarily, his tone brusque and arms crossed. "I would like copies of your underway check-off list, all other applicable checklists, and all of your casualty control procedures."

"I'll be happy to have copies made for you, sir," his XO started to reply, only to be cut off.

"Immediately," Clayton stressed, his expression growing unfriendly as he cut her off.

Katie glanced towards Bridger, and he could read her expression easily enough as he straightened, trying to suppress his own irritation. _Can I kick him off the bridge, now?_ Katie clearly wanted to ask him, but Clayton didn't give Nathan a chance to speak up before he tried to goad her into saying something else, clearly not following her gaze…and clearly not caring what evolution he was interrupting.

"Is there a problem, Commander?" the inspector challenged.

"We're in the middle of going through the checklist right now, sir. I can have a copy made once we're underway," Katie answered, her expression growing tense.

Clayton opened his mouth to argue, but Nathan decided it was time to intervene. "Captain Clayton, it's good to see you again," he said, stepping down from the upper level where the communications console was. _About as good as it is to get a case of syphilis, anyway._ He forced himself to smile. "Welcome back."

He held out a hand, and pretended not to notice the other captain's slight scowl of distaste as he shook it. Clayton's eyes lingered on Nathan's sling for a moment, and the inspector's superior sneer grew. Clearly, he had already decided that the 'tech-head' he remembered from his visit to the last _seaQuest_ was not a worthy opponent. Not a moment passed before he sneered:

"Waste of my time, if you ask me," Clayton said dismissively. "What the UEO needs now is a warship, not a science experiment."

Nathan blinked and resisted the urge to stare open-mouthed at the other officer. Finally, he found his voice. "I quite agree."

The inspector snorted. "And yet here we are, _Captain_."

Given the number of light-years in seniority Bridger had over Clayton, the comment was more than a bit insubordinate, but Nathan had never been one to smack people with his rank unless he really had to. Instead, he replied as levelly as he could, trying to remind himself that Clayton hadn't had the clearance to learn much about _seaQuest_ before his arrival, and that he couldn't be blamed for assuming that this boat was like the last one.

Doing so calmed his temper. Mostly. It would have worked better if he hadn't known that Tim had taken the time to prepare an extensive briefing packet for Clayton and his team, one Clayton had clearly not bothered to read.

"I realize that you haven't had time to take the tour," Nathan responded dryly. "But I do assure you that _seaQuest_ is a warship. Much like her predecessor, this boat was designed from the keel up to be the most deadly submarine in the ocean." He smiled nastily. "I'm afraid there simply wasn't time to refit her to become a science vessel. We've been in a bit of a hurry."

"It amuses me that you think you can get this boat underway so quickly, Captain. What I've seen so far of both the boat and the crew is _not_ promising," Clayton retorted. Bridger could practically _see_ the man's ego swelling with the small amount of power the Navy trusted him with. _If he was like this when he was in command of_ Scorpion _, it's a small wonder that crew was thankful to meet Oliver Hudson!_

"Is that so?" he replied, letting his eyebrows arch. His headache was returning in full force, but this time he didn't think the concussion was to blame. Not this time, anyway. "You saw that much on your way from the launch bay to the bridge?"

"I am trained to be highly observant."

Nathan could not help the bark of laughter that came out. "I bet you are," he snorted, but then his tone turned hard. "Be it as it may, I would appreciate it if you refrain from insulting my crew or my boat while you are a guest on board."

"I—"

"Captain, the boat is ready in all respects to get underway," Katie reported, interrupting whatever nastiness Clayton was going to sprout.

Bridger smiled. "Thank you, XO."

"We'll finish this conversation later," Clayton promised ominously before he could continue, and Nathan finally let fury sharpen his voice. The months of tension combined with the recent accident to tear open the door to the cage he kept his temper locked up in—and he couldn't regret it. Not with Clayton determined to be such a jackass. _I don't_ _have to put up with your antics, and I'm damn well not going to,_ he thought angrily.

"Yes. We will." He met the other captain's eyes for a long moment before stepping away from him, matching Clayton glare for glare. "But for now, I would like to get my boat underway. Excuse me."

He had to wait several seconds before he was certain that his temper was under control; Nathan hated the fact that his crew had seen that little pissing contest, but he supposed there was no getting around that, now. Most of them were trying to hide smiles, with their eyes turned intently to their consoles in hopes that neither Bridger nor Hitchcock would comment. _Not like I can yell at them when_ I'm _the one who lost my temper at the jerk._ Nathan took a deep breath, letting his eyes travel around the bridge, luxuriating in the fact that his creation had finally come to life.

Satisfied that his expression was finally calm enough, he stepped up next to Katie, who was already seated at her station. Nathan leaned against the back of his own chair, propping his sling up on its top edge.

"You ready to see if this overgrown squid of ours can dance?" he asked with a smile.

"Would you like a tango or a waltz, sir?" she asked with a grin of her own.

"I'll take both, I think. But one at a time, I think." Nathan raised his voice to be heard by the entire bridge—and by the voice recorders that served as the boat's official log. "This is the Captain. I have the conn."

"The Captain has the conn, aye, sir," Chief Carleton replied immediately.

Squaring his shoulders, Nathan stepped up into the open area just aft of the helmsmen's stations. He still wouldn't sit in the captain's chair until the boat was officially Navy, so he preferred to have a bit of room to move around. Besides, he'd been raised in a tradition that said the conning officer _never_ sat down, and even this many years later, he had a hard time shaking that.

"Sonar, put aft WSKR view on the main screen," he ordered.

"On screen," Ortiz replied immediately, giving Nathan a view of the drydock behind them, which was now open to the sea. _seaQuest_ fit rather tightly in her berth, but backing out should make for a straightforward operation—as long as nothing broke along the way, of course.

Judging from Clayton's expression, he was salivating at the thought of that happening.

"All engines back slow," Nathan ordered, easing his boat out of the drydock. If anyone was going to hit something with the UEO's brand-new twelve billion dollar submarine, it might as well be him. His job included taking the risks, after all. "Maintain heading of zero-five-two."

"All engines back slow, maintain heading of zero-five-two, aye, sir," Carleton replied, and the moments ticked by slowly as they inched out of the slip. Finally, however, _seaQuest_ entered the harbor for the first time, and twisted around to face the channel on Nathan's command.

"Couple your jets. Left full rudder, steady course two-five-five. Make your depth forty-five feet."

His boat shuddered slightly as the port jets reversed their thrust, and the bow came around with surprising swiftness. They were underway, and it had never felt so good.

* * *

Lucas resisted the urge to swear. Captain Clayton was hovering over his shoulder, and with things already going to hell, Lucas didn't need to add unprofessional behavior to the list of things the inspector had against him.

 _It's not like he understands anything I'm doing_ , he grumbled to himself. _Hell,_ I _barely understand what I'm doing!_

For some reason, two of _seaQuest's_ four jets had stopped responding properly to helm controls, despite their flawless operation that morning. The buckets were doing exactly the opposite of what they were supposed to be doing, and the power levels were all over the charts.

And of course, everyone was waiting on him. He could practically feel the entire bridge crew _staring_ at him, watching him work. Captain Clayton's impatience was practically palpable, and Lucas was dreading the moment he decided to start in on Lucas. He didn't think even the captain could protect him right now, especially since neither he nor Commander Hitchcock was currently on the bridge. Heck, even Tim and Miguel had finally turned over their stations to their reliefs, and Schafer had the deck. _No help there. He's probably too busy gloating, anyway,_ Lucas thought to himself, and then forced his mind back to the problem in front of him.

 _There's gotta be an inverse matrix in here somewhere. I just need to find the stupid thing._ But the lines of code scrolled across his screen, and he couldn't figure out what was causing such a bizarre error. The code was fine. He _knew_ the code was fine, and the jets had worked perfectly in every single test, not to mention three hours of actual operation. Something, somewhere, had to be corrupted, but Lucas had no idea what.

"Are you going to fix this sometime today, Lieutenant, or are we all just going to stand here and watch?" Clayton demanded after less than a minute of hovering over him.

Lucas rolled his eyes, only because he knew the inspector wouldn't be able to see the action. "I'm working as quickly as I can, sir." _Unless you know how to program something like this and would like to take a look?_ he didn't ask out loud. "It may be a hardware problem."

"Unless I missed something, the water jets were working fine this morning, Lieutenant. How can _that_ be a hardware problem?"

Clayton, it seemed, knew just enough to be dangerous.

"We could have fried the processor since this morning. And as you said, sir, they were working fine this morning, so it isn't necessarily a problem with my code."

He scrolled back up to the top of the code anyway, taking it line by line. _Seventeen thousand lines of code, should only take me a couple of hours..._ Assuming Clayton shut up long enough to let him think, but Lucas was beginning to realize that was distinctly unlikely.

"With _your_ code?" the inspector demanded aggressively.

"Yeah, _my_ code. I wrote it for _seaQuest II_ , and I upgraded it for this boat," he said. "Sir," he tacked on, before Clayton could yell at him for being insubordinate.

It didn't help.

"Don't get smart with me, boy," Clayton growled.

 _I'm not a boy, you overgrown walrus._ He wished he was back in his stateroom, where he could blast his music as loud as he wanted and didn't have to deal with an overbearing idiots like Clayton. "My apologies, sir," he said, still trying to focus on the task at hand.

"You're just one more example of an officer who doesn't belong on the UEO's so-called flagship," was the dismissively arrogant answer. "If I had my way, this boat would be manned with _the_ top of the line officers and enlisted men, not a bunch of half-socialized misfits who can't even figure out how to operate their own submarine."

"You think you can do better, sir? I mean, after all, it's not like I programmed this myself, and it's not like I have _two_ Ph.D.s or anything, or that this is all brand new and _no one_ knows how to operate it. But please, sir, go ahead and show us," Lucas snapped before he could stop himself. By then, the words were out, and he couldn't take them back. _Captain Bridger is going to kill me!_

" _Ow!"_ Lucas expected to be yelled at—and he even deserved it—but he never expected Clayton to physically haul him out of his seat by the front of his shirt.

"Now see here, you little shit. _No_ lieutenant talks to me like that—I'm a captain in the UEO Navy, and you will show me some goddamned respect," Clayton snarled, shaking Lucas. "You will remove yourself from the bridge _right now_ , pending charges of gross insubordination and dereliction of duty!"

Lucas' mouth flew open, ready to start tossing insults back at Clayton when Ben walked onto the bridge, bounding up the stairs to the upper level in a few long strides.

"Is there a problem here, Captain?" Ben asked casually, shooting Lucas a _keep your mouth shut_ look. It took all of Lucas' willpower to snap his mouth closed again, grinding his teeth.

"What do _you_ want?" Clayton demanded angrily, turning to face Ben. At least it meant that he let go of Lucas, though, which was a good thing, since he was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic. _And I don't have claustrophobia, either… not when giant walruses aren't assaulting me, anyway!_

"Excuse me for interrupting, Captain Clayton," Ben was suddenly smiling and chipper, seemingly having no idea that he'd intervened in a tense situation. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Krieg, the Supply Officer, and I wanted to let you know that lunch is being served for you and your team in the conference room, or if you prefer, Captain Bridger has invited you to join him for lunch in his cabin."

Somehow, Lucas got the impression that Bridger had issued no such invitation, but Ben was playing lifesaver, anyway.

"Oh yes, I think I'll be speaking with the captain _immediately_ , regarding the behavior of this lieutenant," Clayton replied. Lucas winced.

Ben's smile never wavered. _How does he_ do _that?_ "Shall I escort you there, sir?"

"I know how to get there myself, Commander," he snarled.

"Yes, sir." Ben waited until Clayton stormed off the bridge before he turned to Lucas, his cheerful expression suddenly intense. "Go find the XO, and tell her what happened. I happen to know that the Captain _isn't_ in his quarters right now—he's down doing a swim tubes inspection with Darwin, so I'll find him and warn him. And for God's sake, Lucas, _stay away from Clayton_ until the Captain has dealt with him. Okay?"

Lucas nodded, still a little rattled by Clayton's actions. "Yes, sir."

"Don't worry about it, kid," Ben said with a much more sincere smile, patting him on the shoulder. "With assholes like that around, we've got to stick together."

Ben followed Clayton off the bridge a moment later, and true to his word, he _did_ get to the captain first. Of course, Clayton got to Bridger not long after, which ignited an argument that half the crew heard down on the Sea Deck before Bridger managed to convince Clayton to take it someplace quieter. Lucas wound up being 'counseled' for his behavior by Commander Hitchcock, an evolution that took up about two minutes of his time, and really consisted of her telling him that she _knew_ Clayton was a jerk, but Lucas couldn't mouth off to him, anyway. And that he really should know better, so knock it the hell off.

Then she sent him back to detangling the maneuvering systems' programming code, reminding him that they really _did_ need to figure out the problem with the waterjets as soon as possible. With that in mind, Lucas was finally able to swallow his pride enough to ask Chris Schafer to help him with it. Working together, it only took them an hour and a half to figure out where the problem was, a faulty 'if' loop nested in a section of code. He was slightly surprised that Schafer was able to help so much, considering the academic work he'd seen out of the other officer back at MIT, but Schafer _did_ have a lot of practical experience debugging Navy code. Not only did it fix the boat, but Lucas hoped it had helped with their relationship, if even just a little. He was sick of the war of attrition between the two of them.

They even managed to have a real conversation afterwards, even though it was about work. Still, the two of them _had_ managed to talk for almost three hours without fighting, and when they both headed to lunch, they even sat together. It was progress, anyway, and left Lucas feeling a lot better than he might have after being yelled at—and shaken—by Clayton.

That evening, after _seaQuest_ pulled back into port, Bridger pulled him aside. The captain didn't criticize him—which Lucas had been _sure_ he would, especially since he deserved it. Instead, he told him that Clayton was just an example of the type of person who was sometimes drawn to the Navy: one who liked power and _really_ liked making people squirm. He did warn Lucas to stay as far from Clayton as he could from there on out, though, something Lucas had absolutely no problem doing.

Of course, there was another week's worth of trials scheduled, so there was no knowing how long that would last.

* * *

21 January 2024 – UEO seaQuest Sea Trials, Day 3

"Self noise check complete, sir," Ortiz reported, and saw the captain nod in relief. Three days of nonstop testing evolutions left the entire crew feeling wasted—especially since Captain Clayton and his team seemed determined to make everyone feel as miserable as possible.

"Very well," Bridger replied, and then turned to Tim O'Neill, who currently had the watch as Officer of the Deck. "Mr. O'Neill, take us home."

"Aye, sir," the Ops Officer replied, ordering up a course for Pearl Harbor.

Meanwhile, Miguel turned his console over to his relief; he'd been training up four different understudies in both the simulator and during sea trials, and he was more than ready to take a break. Tim had the Deck, so he couldn't leave, but Miguel could see other watchstanders turning over now that the day's testing was complete. Miguel would have bowed out after the full power run earlier, since it was the most interesting thing on the schedule for that day (he had Petty Officer Melissa Morgan run the passive sonar testing for training that morning), but Loner had started acting up again when they'd tried to start the self noise test, so he'd taken the console over from Morgan to run the test.

Now Morgan was back in the seat, and Miguel was able to finally stretch a bit. "You figure out what we're going to call the fourth WSKR yet, sir?" Morgan asked him.

"I'm still working on that," Miguel admitted. "The first three just kind of came to me when we got sick of calling them by numbers on the first _seaQuest_ , but nothing's occurred to me yet for this boy."

Morgan looked up at him with a frown on her face. "How do you know the WSKR's a he, sir?"

"I don't know," Miguel shrugged. "Guess I just picked a pronoun. And don't call me, sir. I may be a Warrant Officer now, but I still work for a living."

And what work he did, too. This _seaQuest_ gave him even more toys than the last one had—now he had four WSKRs to play with on a regular basis, with a maximum of six available under battle conditions. Currently, none of his understudies could manage more than four, but since one of those was usually trailing the boat at a set distance, driving an extra one wasn't much harder than managing three had been.

"Sorry, boss," she grinned. "So, Mother's a girl, right? Why not this one, too?"

"Heck if I know. Maybe he is—"

"Sir, our launch and recovery tests were completed yesterday," Hitchcock's voice rose far enough over the din to grab Miguel's attention, and he cut off before he could finish his own playful remark. Captain Bridger had left the bridge a few moments before, so of course Clayton was attacking now. _He couldn't do this when someone might overrule him, could he?_ Miguel thought contemptuously. The XO's voice was still calm, but Miguel could hear an undertone of annoyance. "We have a schedule to keep, and we if we slow to launch a Stinger or two, we'll be late getting back to Pearl."

"I don't care about your schedules, Commander," Clayton snapped. "When I give an order, I expect it to be followed."

Morgan turned to him, her eyes suddenly wide. She spoke quietly. "Sir, is he able to—"

"Hush."

Hitchcock was continuing in a stiff voice. "Captain Clayton, with all due respect, you are not the captain of this boat, and although I respect your higher rank, I have no obligation to follow your orders. Commander O'Neill, maintain course and speed."

"Aye, ma'am," Tim replied, sneaking the same kind of look at Clayton that the rest of the crew so often did. For the last three days, Clayton had pushed and shoved at every one of them, and this was not the first time that he had insisted that someone alter the testing schedule just to suit one of his whims. Usually, Captain Bridger shut him down, but now it seemed like he was trying to do an end run around the captain and get his way.

Unfortunately for Clayton, he hadn't seemed to get a pretty good read on Katherine Hitchcock, not if he expected her to knuckle under after a little bit of bullying.

The thought hit him like a ton of bricks. _Gazelle_. She wanted to name the Stinger 'Gazelle' in the beginning, and had been furious when Lucas suggested anything else. It took all of Miguel's self control not to burst out laughing, but this really wasn't the moment for humor. He knew what that last WSKR was going to be named, though he knew that there would be hell to pay from the XO if he so much as suggested it.

 _Maybe I'll get Ben to run interference for me. He knows what it's like to piss her off. Maybe he can handle her._

Clayton couldn't, judging from his expression. "I'll put you on report for this, Commander!"

"Go ahead, sir. My captain is in his cabin." Her gaze didn't give even an inch, and although Clayton glared back at her for almost an entire minute, he eventually stormed off the bridge. Everyone seemed to hold their breaths until he finally did—even if Katie had won this battle, they had five days of testing left to endure, and how miserable would Clayton manage to make the crew during that time?

When he was finally gone, Miguel turned and whispered to Morgan. "I think you're right. WSKR four _is_ a girl. And I know just what to name her."

She gave him a confused look, so he started to explain.


	15. Déjà Vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some action! Sorry for the delay in updating, folks. Life has been insane for both of us. I wish I could say the end of the insanity was in sight, but alas... We'll try and be better in the future about updating... Enjoy this chapter, in the meantime!

24 January 2024 – UEO _seaQuest_ Sea Trials, Day 5

They were in the channel and heading for open water at over thirty knots, about as fast as they could travel without Pearl Harbor Port Control issuing the maritime version of a speeding ticket.  After the fireworks of their maintenance day—Katie was still getting calls from the shoreside supply organization about the reign of terror Ben had poured down upon their heads after _that_ fiasco—Day 4 of trials had gone fairly well, and _seaQuest_ had tested almost all of her emergency systems with fewer than expected glitches.  Of course, one of the problems had been a refusal of the emergency life support systems to kick in following a simulated computer failure, but Lonnie had managed to figure that one out after drawing parallels to the solar power station her father ran.  The young ensign was clearly Brad Williams’ favorite engineer, now, and Katie felt that she deserved the distinction.

Even Clayton hadn’t found much to yell at her about for that one, which was a far cry from the incident on Day 3 that had almost left Lonnie crying, and had left Katie hauling the Chief Engineer away from the senior inspector before Williams could indicate his physical displeasure with the way Clayton chose to bully members of the crew.  Fortunately, Brody had turned up to distract Clayton at just the right time, cementing the beginnings of a real friendship between the Weapons Officer and the Chief Engineer that Katie was glad to see.

 _Speaking of people I am glad to see, Clayton is_ still _not one of them,_ she grumbled to herself.  At the moment, Clayton was busy harassing Morgan over at sonar while Miguel looked on, so Katie felt safe in leaning over quietly to speak to the captain.

“I’m going to kill him if he doesn’t let up soon,” she whispered.  She would never have admitted something like that to any other CO, but Katie had worked under Bridger long enough to know that his body language was screaming the same thing.  The entire crew was united in their hatred of Captain Clayton—if the old hands had thought he was bad the last time he’d been aboard _seaQuest_ , that was nothing compared to his antics this time.

“Calmly, Commander,” he answered in the same undertone.  “We only have to deal with him for four more days, and then I will cheerfully tell him to get the hell off my boat.”

“Is it too much to ask that you’ll also tell him to never come back?” she asked hopefully.  Joking about Clayton didn’t mitigate the damage the jerk had done, but at least it kept her from tearing his head off.  _I never thought someone would make Oliver Hudson look nice and cuddly, but Clayton does that rather well._

Bridger chuckled.  “Not if he keeps going like this, it won’t be.”

“Ortiz can handle him,” Katie felt obligated to point out, almost relishing the words.  “He’s a Warrant Officer.  He’s _supposed_ to be obnoxious.”  And crusty.  And self-sufficient.  She couldn’t _wait_ to hear what Miguel said if Clayton tried to pick on one of the sonar people.

“At least he’s not Lucas, you mean?”

“He didn’t do so badly, all things considered,” she answered, smiling despite the tension that was _still_ making her neck knot up.  “I was actually rather impressed.”

Bridger laughed softly.  “So was I.  Speaking of which, I think it’s time to get some training time in for the young lad, don’t you?”

“We _are_ on trials, Captain.”

Of course, she knew by now that once Bridger had an idea in his head, there was no getting it out, so there was really no point in objecting.  Still, Katie felt that she ought to _try_ —even if giving Lucas some driving time was a good idea, she could only imagine what chaos Clayton could wreak on the kid’s self confidence if he stuck his nose into this evolution.  Under normal circumstances, it was damn near impossible to intimidate Lucas, but when he wasn’t too sure of himself…

“Don’t worry,” the captain replied, going right to the heart of her concerns.  “Between you and me, I think we can fight Clayton off.”

“Sounds like a fun way to spend the morning, sir.”

He laughed again.  “You bet it is.”

Sometimes, Bridger’s sense of humor really made Katie want to kick his head in.  But that definitely wasn’t something she should say—not even to a captain as tolerant as Nathan Bridger.  _Besides, I get the feeling that his toleration is being pushed to the limit by this asshole_ , Katie thought, glancing at Clayton again.  _I’d be surprised if his temper manages to stay in check for three more days.  Four, if you count today._   She’d already seen Bridger lose it at Clayton once, and was _almost_ looking forward to seeing that again…but not if the crew had to watch.  She knew that the captain hated to lose his temper, and he especially hated to let it happen in front of their sailors.

“Do you want to coach him, or do you want me to?” Katie asked instead of voicing her thoughts.

“I’ll do it.  I think it’s time for you to get with Brody and start checking out the fire control system—it’ll be good training for him,” the captain added.  “He’s been pretty good in the simulator, but I’d rather he not push the wrong buttons when we actually get to today’s live fire testing.”

“Do you ever stop thinking about training, sir?” It wasn’t an aspect of Nathan Bridger she’d really noticed on the last _seaQuest_ , or at least not consciously.  Now that Katie thought about it, she remembered an awful lot of situations where Bridger had quietly encouraged cross-training and professional development.

“Not these days, no,” Bridger replied, his smile vanishing.  Now, however, Katie was pretty sure that his serious expression was not caused by the annoyance named Captain Clayton; Bridger was probably thinking ahead to what lay beyond sea trials.  The crew had been so wrapped up in getting the boat ready for sea that they hadn’t had time to think about what happened once _seaQuest_ was ready.

Katie had done a (near) wartime deployment on _Torsk_ , and she’d be lying if she said that a nasty part of her wasn’t looking forward to doing the same thing on the world’s most advanced submarine.  Yet, at the same time she was not looking forward to the possibility of losing another boat, or other friends and colleagues.  She wasn’t afraid to do what needed to be done, but Katie was fully aware of what it might cost.

Meeting her captain’s gaze, she knew that he was, too, and that the responsibility making sure _seaQuest_ and her crew were ready weighed even harder upon him.

***************************

“Captain, Navigator, we are one hour out from the UEO SOSUS line,” the disembodied voice reported over the communications circuit.

“On my way.”

Two minutes later, the captain walked onto the bridge of AMS _Spectre_ , the newest and most powerful submarine in the arsenal of the Macronesian Alliance.  The boat was running silently, leading an entire fleet of submarines towards UEO waters.  In fact, they had crossed the invisible border not long before; the SOSUS line was far enough inside UEO territory that the idiots still assumed they were keeping its existence a secret.

 _It’s time to make good my promise to President Bourne_ , the captain thought dispassionately, studying the electronic navigation display.  _First Johnston Atoll, and then Pearl._ Stassi probably thought that the promise had been just that much hyperbole, but the captain was glad to have him along for the ride.  Under normal circumstances, carting a general around on a submarine would have been less than desirable, but this way Stassi would finally learn to appreciate the submarine force.

Besides, Stassi was currently riding with _Phantom_ , and he had absolutely no tactical command in the coming battle.  _Battle.  Ha.  As if these cowards will manage to put up much of a fight at all._

“ETA to Point X-Ray is nineteen minutes.  Distance to turn sixteen nautical miles.  The fleet remains at EMCON, no enemy presence in the area,” the OOD reported.

“Very well.”

 _Spectre’s_ crew was the best the Macronesian Navy had to offer, the brightest and the most innovative.  Over the last six months, they had become the best trained, too.  There was no warship in the world that could stand up to them, a fact that the UEO would discover before long.

“Are _Phantom_ and _Wraith_ running silent?” the captain asked.

“Completely,” the sonar chief replied promptly.  “Even knowing what to look for, I can only track them intermittently.  Once we slow, no one will find us.”

“Excellent.”  _Silent at over 80 knots.  Even_ seaQuest _drew attention at that speed.  The UEO won’t know what hit them when we cross the SOSUS line._

 _In fact, they won’t know what hit them until_ long _after that, because there’s no way for them to hear us coming._ Resisting the urge to gloat was hard.

Intelligence said that _Atlantis_ was one of the few boats in the target area, and the captain hoped that was the case.  _Spectre_ had some unfinished business with their old friend, and today was an excellent day to finish that.

***************************

“All right, people.  Today’s supposed to be an easy day, so let’s not overly complicate things, shall we?” Jonathan said to his bridge crew, and watched tired smiles reward him for the remark.

“Course to new OPAREA laid in, Captain,” the OOD informed him, and Jonathan checked the nearby chart out of habit.  He trusted his team—he had a damned good one, after all—but _trust, then verify_ was a mantra he lived by.  Everything was in order, and the course checked out.  Not that he’d expected anything else.

“I’ll get out of your hair then, Paul,” Jonathan said with a smile, turning to leave the bridge.  “XO, will you join me in the wardroom?”

Mark followed him in silence; he was probably the only member of the crew aside from Jonathan who wasn’t happy about their new orders.  On the surface, their new assignment was a nice one—patrol the waters just south of Johnston Atoll, provide assistance to local settlements as required, and catch up on some much needed training.  Of course, Jonathan had _already_ been training his crew to death over the last few weeks, so everyone on board correctly interpreted their orders to mean that they were in for a bit of a break.  After all, they wouldn’t be patrolling the Macronesian border this time, which indicated some nice time off.

Unfortunately, Jonathan had shown Mark the eyes-only message that was making him so grouchy.  It didn’t change their orders a bit— _Atlantis_ probably was actually in for some time off—but it did make every _other_ aspect of their lives more complicated.

Jonathan barely managed to wait until the wardroom door was shut before he slapped the hardcopy of the message down on the table.  Hard.

“Can you believe this crap?” As a CO, he shouldn’t let himself lose control like this, but everyone had to talk to someone, and there wasn’t an Old Man program on _Atlantis._ His XO was the closest thing to a confidant he had, and he trusted Mark.  Besides, Mark had earned that trust.

“You want an honest answer, boss?”

“Not really, no.” Jonathan sank into a chair, glaring at the message.

 _A state of tension exists between the Alliance of Macronesia and the UEO_ , the stupid piece of paper said, stating the obvious.  _Units of the UEO Navy are to be advised that incidents have occurred and submarines have been sunk._

It was possibly the singularly most _useless_ document Jonathan had ever read in his life.  _UEO units are advised that Macronesian submarines may open fire without warning.  In such cases, all possible means to defend your unit are authorized, up to and including the use of deadly force.  However, the current rules of engagement remain in effect, and UEO units are not authorized to fire upon any Macronesian forces unless first fired upon._

 _Disciplined restraint is required of all units operating on or near the border with the Alliance of Macronesia.  Aggressive action on the part of Alliance submarines should not be tolerated, and any units seeking to cross the border should be dissuaded with all means short of deadly force._

“Did a lawyer write this thing?” he finally asked, gesturing angrily at the message.  “It says nothing while covering everyone’s rear end at the same time.”

Mark snorted.  “I bet they did have a JAG write it, actually.”

“Just as long as they don’t sue me with it when this war—or not-war, or whatever we’re calling it these days—is over.”

“You think they’ll come in this deep, sir?” Mark asked after a moment, and Jonathan sighed, this time without the anger.  Now he just felt _tired._

“I wish I didn’t.”

***************************

“Mr. Wolenczak.”

The captain’s voice made Lucas’ head snap up from where he’d been looking at the engineering readouts over Lonnie’s shoulder.  As much as he’d have preferred to hole up in his stateroom and catch a nap after getting up shortly after four that morning, Lucas knew that he had a large number of qualifications to complete in order to become an official submariner—a point that Chris Schafer made to him on a rather constant basis, even if they were on better terms, now.  Engineering was only one of several areas in which he needed to learn the Navy’s way of doing business, and he was determined to get his “dolphins” in record time.

“Yes, sir?” he asked, startled.  His first thought was to protest that he hadn’t been in the way, and that he was trying to _learn_ something useful, but Lucas quashed that reflex.  After all, Bridger might not think he was causing a problem, and it was best not to make assumptions like that with that jerk Clayton lurking and waiting to yell at him.  Not far away, the walrus was practically _drooling_ at the thought.

“Why don’t you come on down here and take the conn?” the captain asked, sounding so casual that it took a moment for the words to sink in.

“Me?”  _Tell me my voice didn’t just squeak like that._

“Yes, you.”  But it was Bridger’s smile more than the order that brought him down off of the upper level of the bridge to join the captain where he stood near Chief Carleton.

“Are you sure this is such a good idea, Captain?” he asked in an undertone, hoping the UEO inspector couldn’t hear him.  “This _is_ a twelve billion dollar submarine that I’ve never driven before.”

Bridger chuckled.  “Relax, Lucas.  I’m not going to give you the keys and then go hit my rack.”

“I hope not, Captain,” Lucas said, feeling sixteen again.  _At least I managed not to squeak again._ He had not known he could still be so reassured by Bridger’s easy confidence.

“Still, I think it’s time for you to take the wheel for a bit, metaphorically speaking,” Bridger continued, squeezing his shoulder briefly.  “So, let’s start with you taking the conn from Mr. Schafer here—after all, I already know that Chris can drive.”

The last part was directed more towards Schafer than Lucas, who shot him an unreadable look.  For once, Schafer didn’t seem to want to prove that he was better at something than Lucas—but maybe he _knew_ he was better at this, so he didn’t feel the need to gloat. 

The thought didn’t make him feel much better.  He wasn’t used to being second best, and certainly not to Chris Schafer.  That alone steeled his resolve.  _If he can do it, then so can I.  Besides, the captain thinks I can do this, and even Captain Clayton isn’t protesting, so it must be okay._

Bridger nodded, and Schafer announced: “Attention on the bridge.  This is Lieutenant Schafer.  Lieutenant J.G.  Wolenczak has the conn.”

He knew what to say here, at least.  Lucas remembered hearing the words said on the last _seaQuest_ , no matter how informal the crew could be back then.  Many Navy traditions had gone out the window on board the research version of _seaQuest_ , but this one had seemed to stick.  Still, he had to swallow before he could make his voice come out loudly enough for everyone on the bridge to hear.

“This is Lieutenant J.G. Wolenczak.  I have the conn.”

“Helm, aye,” Chief Carleton answered immediately.

The sixteen year old in him desperately wanted to turn to the captain and ask _Did I do that right?_   Unfortunately, as an officer, acting like a child on the bridge was discouraged.  Bridger, however, gave him another encouraging nod as Schafer headed back towards where Tim currently sat at the communications console.

“Now what?” he asked Bridger in an undertone, trying not to sound desperate.  Everyone else on the bridge seemed to think that nothing big was going on, but Lucas had never done this before, and he didn’t like uncertainty.

“Well, now we’ve exited the channel, and we’re in the open waters southwest of Hawaii.  You can see on the navigational display where our operations area for today is designated—we have to go farther out than the last few days so that we can fire live torpedoes,” the captain explained.  “So, we need to come left to about two-zero-nine to reach the OPAREA, and adjust our speed to make sure we get there on time.”

Knowing that they needed to be in the live-fire OPAREA within the hour, Lucas did some quick math in his head.  “So, we need to make about 120 knots.”

“Exactly.”

“How do I do that?”  He hated having to ask, but Lucas knew that he couldn’t just walk up to Chief Carleton and say, _Go that way_ and _Do it at 120 knots._ He’d learned during his first tour that nothing in the Navy was that simple.

“Did they go over standard commands at OCS?” Bridger asked, reading his expression.

“Some, but something tells me that what they were talking about doesn’t completely apply to _seaQuest_.”

“Yes and no.  Standard commands are used in the Navy for a few very important reasons, most importantly so that when under pressure and stress, every command is given the same way, every time, and no misunderstandings take place.  Make sense?”

Lucas nodded.

“Every boat in the Navy adjusts standard commands to fit their own maneuvering characteristics, and _seaQuest_ is no different.  However, we follow the same basic principle.  For example: although we don’t actually have traditional screws or rudders, we still use ‘rudder’ orders to direct the water jets, except when we are doing water jet specific maneuvers,” the captain explained. 

“So, we still use things like left full rudder.”  It was like learning another language, and Lucas had never felt any particular inclination to learn anything aside from programming codes.  Those at least made _sense_.

“Exactly.  We use several standard rudder commands to control the jets, and we use the same sort of commands to control the amount and direction of water pouring through the jets, which we call throttle control…”

Lucas absorbed the lecture as it went on.  He understood the principle of water jets well enough.  It was just simple fluid dynamics, after all.  The problems started coming up when he thought _too_ hard about how they worked.  To get the boat to turn starboard, the body of the jet itself would turn right physically—but the water coming out of it would be aimed to the left, pushing the boat forward in the direction they wanted to go.  His instinct was to tell someone which way the water should be going, instead of the boat, but the controls didn’t work like that, which meant the helmsmen would do the opposite of what he wanted if Lucas tried to direct the water. 

Finally, he felt ready to give an actual order—and he even understood what he was saying, which was rather nice.  “Left standard rudder, steady course two-zero-nine,” Lucas told Chief Carleton, unable to stop himself from glancing at Bridger and waiting for a nod of affirmation. 

“Left standard rudder, steady course two-zero-nine, aye,” Carleton replied immediately.  Lucas was a bit weirded out by the requirement for the diving officer to repeat back every order he gave, but he did understand that it was to prevent misunderstandings.  After a moment, the chief reported: “My rudder is left fifteen degrees, coming to course two-zero-nine.”

Lucas nodded absently, and a moment passed before Carleton spoke again, his voice still dispassionate.

“Conning officer, my rudder is left fifteen degrees, coming to course two-zero-nine.”

“Very well,” Bridger prompted him in an undertone when Lucas swung to look at him in confusion.

“Very well,” Lucas repeated, feeling his face flush red.  Carleton seemed satisfied, though, which he supposed was good.  Then he remembered that he had to give a speed order, too— _Who’s idea was it to make driving a submarine so damn complicated, anyway?_   Frowning thoughtfully, Lucas took a moment to make sure that he had the right orders in mind.  He took a deep breath, and then added: “All engines ahead two-thirds, make turns for…125 knots.”

“All engines ahead two-thirds, make turns for 125 knots, aye.”  Carleton sounded a lot more confident than Lucas did, for obvious reasons, but at least he wasn’t giving Lucas that expectant look anymore.  “Sir, all engines are ahead full, making turns for 125 knots.” 

“Very well.”  This time, at least, he remembered to say it.  Still, he couldn’t help but turn to the captain and ask quietly: “Is it always this…I dunno, mechanical?”

“Usually, yeah,” Bridger replied, clearly trying not to smile as he leaned against the navigation table.  “When you do it right.”

From engineering, Lonnie was shooting Lucas a sympathetic look, and it suddenly hit him that she’d probably had to endure this same learning process not long ago on _Torsk._ He made a mental note to ask her how she’d managed to keep all the various commands straight; Lucas might be a genius, but he was more than willing to use every resource available to him.

“I guess I’ll just get used to it, then.”

The rest of the trip to the testing area went off without incident, and they arrived in their designated patch of water on schedule.  Lucas was feeling pretty good by then; he’d had to give a few more orders for slight course corrections, and he was now managing to slow _seaQuest_ with only minor coaching from Bridger.  It helped, of course, that the captain had handed him a cheat sheet with the sub’s maneuvering characteristics listed on it.  Lucas was pretty certain that he could memorize the standard commands easily enough, but remembering which speeds corresponded with which engine order (of which there were _eighteen_ different ones to remember, when he included those for going astern) threatened to give him a headache.  How _anyone_ could memorize these mystified him.

Still, he was doing okay, and even managed to turn _seaQuest_ onto her new course of zero-one-zero without much help.  Lucas _had_ managed to accidentally say “right fifteen degrees rudder” instead of “right _standard_ rudder,” but Chief Carleton had managed to correct him subtly enough, so he was feeling pretty good about himself.

Tim’s sudden announcement, however, almost made him jump out of his skin.

“Captain, I’m getting reports over Navy Red that an unknown number of Macronesian subs have crossed the SOSUS line northwest of Johnston Atoll, moving at high speed.”

Lucas’ head jerked around to stare at the captain.  Very few people knew that the UEO had recently installed a top secret Sound Surveillance System (SOSUS) about 150 miles from Johnston Atoll Naval Station, just on the UEO side of the border with Macronesia.  Its purpose was to provide early warning of any undersea attack aimed at UEO colonies or naval stations…and apparently it had done just that.

The entire bridge fell silent, and everyone was looking at the captain.

“How many boats do we have in the vicinity of JANS?” Bridger asked after a moment.  Though his voice was level, something in his tone made Lucas start crunching the numbers in his head.  A quick glance at the navigation table told him that they were almost 450 nautical miles away from Johnston Atoll, and sneaking a peak at the maneuvering cheat sheet in his hand, Lucas calculated that _seaQuest_ could get there in just over an hour and a half traveling at full speed.

Tim turned back after a moment of listening, and Lucas belatedly noticed Schafer sitting by his side, intent on the console in front of him.  “The last ships attached to the naval station were towed out a week ago, Captain, heading towards Pearl for repairs.  I’m getting reports of one sub moving to assist…I think only _Atlantis_ is in range, sir.”

“That’s Captain Ford’s boat,” Lucas said before he could stop himself.  Bridger nodded thoughtfully.

“So it is.”

Silence reigned again as a minute ticked by, and then another.  Even Captain Clayton was quiet, and no one seemed to know what to say until Tim broke it again. 

“SOSUS reports that the Macronesians seem to be headed for Alfin Ridge, the southernmost settlement in the string surrounding Johnston Atoll.  _Atlantis_ is moving to intercept.  She should beat them there, but not by much.”

Lucas burned to punch up information on Alfin Ridge, but he was the conning officer and couldn’t leave his assigned station by the helm.  Instead, it was Schafer who supplied:

“Alfin Ridge.  Settled December 2016, last reported population in excess of eight thousand.  Primary purpose is mining of silver and other minerals from the nearby undersea mountains, but also provides support to the base at Johnston Atoll.”

“Thank you, Chris,” Bridger said absently, his eyes on the navigation table.  Watching him, Lucas could practically see the numbers whirling in the captain’s mind.  Under other circumstances, he would have volunteered the conclusions he had already come to, but he knew that Bridger was thinking about a lot more than just time-distance equations; he was thinking about the still-not-commissioned submarine they were in the process of testing out. 

“Preliminary analysis from SOSUS indicates at least fifteen enemy submarines crossing the line, sir.” Tim’s voice had grown quiet, and the tension on the bridge grew thick enough to cut with a knife. 

 _Fifteen to one odds._ Everyone knew what that meant for _Atlantis._ Standing back at the XO’s station, Commander Hitchcock almost looked ill.  As Lucas met the eyes of the old _seaQuest_ hands one by one, he could see the same dread filling their faces.  Captain Ford was one of their own, and…

 _You can’t face odds like that, Commander,_ Lucas thought desperately, feeling a rock forming in the pit of his stomach.  _You know that!  Don’t do it.  Just don’t.  You can’t win, no matter what you do, so_ please _don’t die trying._ He wanted to go punch up a vidlink and tell Ford that, but Lucas felt rooted to the spot.  Would _anyone_ tell Ford not to do it, or would the selfish UEO just let him die trying to save innocents they were too cowardly to go to war to protect?

A long moment passed, and then Tim spoke up again:

“ _Atlantis_ reports ETA at Alfin Ridge of forty-five minutes.  She’s calling for assistance from any boats within radio range.”

When Lucas turned to look at him again, he was surprised to see Captain Bridger smile.

“Anyone else getting a strange sense of déjà vu?” the captain asked with a chuckle.


	16. The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this chapter was much longer, but we've now split it into two parts, the second of which will be Chapter 17: "First Contact." It's done and ready to post, so look for it within the next week, if not sooner! We'll both, amazingly, have some vacation time that coincides, so hopefully we'll get the next few chapters ready to go.

24 January 2024 – UEO _seaQuest_ Sea Trials, Day 5

Katie's brain had desperately wanted to shut down after Tim's last report, but she knew that she could not allow it to. No matter how close a friend Jonathan Ford was—no matter how much danger he was taking his boat into—she had to remain focused on the task at hand. She was _seaQuest's_ XO, and they were on sea trials. The safety of _this_ boat and crew had to be her primary concern. To make matters worse, Captain Clayton was moving in her direction, and Captain Bridger was just _standing_ there with an absurd smile on his face—

And then his words sank in.

"… _We've got a distress call coming in," Jonathan said almost five years ago, staring at the navigation table and looking distracted._

" _Why are you telling me?" the man dressed in cut-off shorts and a baggy denim shirt asked, but he was wearing a much more serious expression than he had when he'd told her that he was planning to take a tour of the_ Arizona _Memorial._

" _UEO regulations require me to inform the ranking officer on board of any emergency situations. That would be you, sir."_

" _What's the source of the call?"_

" _Gedrick Power Station. It's under attack. Aggressor unknown."_

 _Déjà vu._ Just like before, they were the only boat close by…or almost the only boat, anyway. And just like before, _seaQuest_ was conducting sea trials—but this time, the boat wasn't returning from a mere refit. Now, the boat was brand new and not even half-tested, and the only reason they had _any_ weapons on board was because they were scheduled to conduct live fire testing over the next two days. _seaQuest_ wasn't even officially a warship, yet. Technically, she was a noncombatant that just happened to be owned by the Navy.

"Bearing to Alfin Ridge?" Bridger's voice was blasé enough that he might have been asking Tim O'Neill for a cup of coffee.

"Two-two-seven degrees true, sir."

The captain turned back towards Lucas, who still had the conn, his tone shifting to something softer. "Come right to course two-two-seven and come up to full."

"Right standard rudder, steady course two-two-seven," Lucas ordered, seemingly on automatic, but his eyes were _huge_. Katie didn't blame him for being worried. She certainly was. "All engines ahead full."

Bridger had passed the orders along like the course change was routine, and he now turned to the Chief of the Watch in the same manner. "Chief of the Watch, pass the word to secure from testing stations."

"Aye, sir." Katie was glad to see that she wasn't the only one looking at the captain like he was crazy, but the Chief of the Watch passed the word over the 1MC immediately, keeping whatever thoughts he had to himself.

She desperately wanted to ask the captain if he had finally gone off the deep end, if he really thought _seaQuest_ could make a difference, especially when they weren't even sure they would be able to fire any of the torpedoes they had on board. But now wasn't the time or the place to question her CO, no matter how strange the situation was. She could only hope he could read the expression on her face, the one that shouted _This is not one of your smarter moves!_

Bridger certainly caught the look, because he shot her a slight smile in response before turning back to the helm. "Chief Carleton, take the conn," he ordered.

"Aye, sir," Carleton responded, moving over to relieve Lucas as Bridger wandered over to Katie's side. She was still standing by her own console, and the weapons console that formed the third in the 'command trio' of stations was currently unmanned, so at least their location offered them a small degree of privacy.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Katie," the captain said softly.

"I'm thinking that we don't even know if all of the kinks are out of the torpedo handling system, and I really don't think a combat situation is the best time to be testing that, sir," she replied, keeping her voice just as soft.

"You got a better idea?"

She sighed. "Not really."

"Me neither," Bridger admitted, leaning on the back of the chair he _still_ hadn't sat in. What _was_ it with him and that chair? "But I'm not about to leave eight thousand people to die, never mind those on _Atlantis_. Not while we can do something about it."

"And what happens if we find out we can't shoot back?"

The captain snorted. "Then we'd better hope that I bluff really well." He was smiling, though, just a little, and Katie couldn't deny the rush of adrenaline surging through her own system. She'd often dreamt of what it would be like to take this _seaQuest_ into battle, even if she'd never expected it to be like this. "She's a good boat, Commander. Let's trust her a bit."

"I do trust her. But while you're busy hoping for the best, I plan on preparing for the worst," she said, trying to mask her own tension and only partially succeeding.

"So do I," he replied seriously. "We've got some time to make sure we're ready, and I expect to do just that."

"Captain Bridger, a moment, if you would—" Of course it was Clayton who thought this was a good time to intrude on a private conversation. _Of course, he thinks_ any _time is a good one to intrude where he's clearly not wanted._

Bridger held a hand up to forestall him. "Not now. Mr. O'Neill, what's the Macronesian ETA at Alfin Ridge?"

"They'll breach the twelve nautical mile limit in one hour, eleven minutes, Captain."

"Chief Carleton, let's crank her open a little bit. Come up to flank speed."

Katie thought she saw an excited glint enter the diving officer's eyes, and she knew how he felt. Although they _had_ tested _seaQuest_ all the way up to emergency power on the third day of trials, they had not stayed at high speed for very long, and now they were looking at a high speed run of over an hour.

"Aye, sir," Carleton replied with a suppressed smile.

"Take her deep, too. Bottom-following. I don't want anyone to know we're coming."

"Yes, sir."

The deck slanted as _seaQuest_ dove, her speed picking up as she raced from a mere five hundred feet to over six thousand. Pulling up the electronic chart of their area of the Pacific, Katie could see that they would be able to stay that deep almost the entire way; although the water around Alfin Ridge averaged only about three thousand feet, that was because the colony itself was situated on the face of a ridgeline. Behind the colony, on the east side, the water was deeper, and the ridge would shield _seaQuest_ from detection until she arrived and had to come up over it.

"You're not authorized to take this boat out of the testing area!" Clayton exploded into protest, and Bridger gave him a withering look.

"Not now," he repeated, reaching onto his own console and flipping on the Captain's 1MC switch. Moments later, his voice came out of every speaker on the submarine.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Captain," he said over the 1MC. "We have just received word that a number of Macronesian submarines have crossed into UEO territory. Their intentions are unknown, but their current course will take them to Alfin Ridge, a settlement just south of Johnston Atoll.

"It may be that the Macronesians have entered our waters by mistake. If so, we will give them every opportunity to leave peacefully. In case they have not, however, we are moving to intercept, and we will do everything within our power to stop them. Our ETA at Alfin Ridge is just over eighty-five minutes. We will go to battle stations half an hour out. In the meantime, do whatever you need to in order to prepare. Take a walk, grab some chow, or check your equipment. You'll know when the time comes.

"I know none of you expected for sea trials to turn out this way, but I have confidence in this boat, and more importantly, in each and every one of you. You were all chosen to be here because you are the best of the best, and today we will prove that. That is all."

Clayton was still glaring as Bridger flipped the switch to the off position. Bridger, however, ignored him and turned back to Katie.

"XO, do whatever testing you feel you need to do, but try to keep it as low-impact as possible. We'll light off every combat system once we go to GQ, anyway, and it's not likely we can fix stuff between now and then if it doesn't work," he pointed out.

"Yes, sir." Katie ran through a mental list of things that they could test in just under an hour. She wasn't used to being so _prepared_ to go to GQ. Usually, it was something that happened suddenly, and there was only time to react, letting training and instinct take over. Then again, she wasn't used to boats that could cover this much ground in so little time, either.

"Feel free to work the contractors on board to death in the meantime, but once we're ten minutes out from Alfin Ridge, I want them on the mess decks and out of the way. No exceptions," Bridger continued. "Now, I'm going to get off the bridge and stop making everyone nervous." He raised his voice so that everyone else couldn't miss the next words. "That goes for the rest of you, as well. If you're on the Condition One watch team, I expect you to take a break so you're fresh when crunch time arrives."

Katie saw a few people exchange relieved–or possibly frightened—glances, but there was a smattering of _yes, sirs_ as the captain left the bridge. Much to her relief, Clayton stormed out on his heels, leaving her to start making what preparations she could.

* * *

Jonathan could feel _Atlantis_ trembling as his boat strained to reach Alfin Ridge before the Macronesians, pouring on every bit of speed she could muster and then some. _Scavenger_ -class subs weren't the fastest in the UEO's arsenal, even if they were one of the newer classes. They had been built with peace in mind and had not ever been expected to need to reach the speeds of the newer _Valiants_. _Atlantis_ was a good boat, though, and the class had proven themselves to be far more reliable in combat than anyone had expected, which was why _Atlantis_ and her sisters were each scheduled to go into the yards for a comprehensive engineering overhaul over the next few months.

 _Not that a future overhaul will help us much now,_ Jonathan thought to himself. Currently, _Atlantis_ could make almost sixty-five knots with every system red-lined, and the overhaul would nearly double that. Still, his current speed was enough to get him there in time.

Barely.

"Updated Macronesian ETA from SOSUS is forty-nine minutes. They've slowed slightly, Captain," Mark reported. As usual, the XO was manning the navigation and tracking party as they got ready to go into combat, and Jonathan felt no need to check the numbers if Mark had done them.

"Thank you," he said, forcing a breath out. He had a thirty minute lead on them, now, which had to be worth something. There weren't a lot of ways to lay an ambush with a _Scavenger_ -class boat, but he was sure that he'd find one. He'd have to. There was no way he was going to let the Macronesians take Alfin Ridge without a fight, but Jonathan had no plans of dying uselessly, either.

 _Too bad I don't have mines on board. That would be_ really _useful right now._ But his boat had never been configured as a mine layer, so he'd have to rely upon stealth and sneakiness instead.

 _Atlantis_ was still too far away for the Macronesians to hear her, but the reverse was also true. SOSUS' immensely powerful array of hydrophones could still track the enemy, however, and Jonathan was relying upon them to pass information along. Once he reached the settlement, he'd go quiet and impersonate a hole in the water, and hope that the Macronesians were overconfident enough to run right by him and provide _Atlantis_ with as many easy shots as she could get.

"Sir, I'm getting a call over Navy Red," Lieutenant Davenport, his communications officer, piped up suddenly.

"What do you have, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"It's from _Scorpion,_ sir. They say they got our message and are moving to assist. ETA three-zero minutes."

Jonathan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He might not always get along with Oliver Hudson, but he certainly wouldn't say no to his help right about now. Hell, he'd even be willing to hug the man, assuming they managed to see one another in person. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir." Poor Lucy looked terribly relieved—what was it about sharing peril with another submarine that always made people feel better? Two against fifteen wasn't much better than one against fifteen, but something was better than nothing.

Mark sidled up to him quietly. "What's the plan, boss?"

"Nothing complicated," Jonathan replied. "Get in close, go quiet, and let them run right over us until we can shoot every torpedo we have right up their rear ends. With _Scorpion_ along, we even stand a decent chance of surviving the exchange."

"That's not something I was expecting half an hour ago," his XO admitted with a grin. "So, I'm not gonna argue."

"Me neither," he breathed, glancing over at the navigational display. Sixteen minutes to go, and they'd intercept the Macronesians' most likely course to Alfin Ridge, and then settle in for thirty minutes of waiting. _Scorpion_ would get there fifteen minutes later, which would cut things rather close, but with the speed the Macronesians were traveling at, Jonathan didn't expect they'd be able to pick up _Scorpion_ on sonar, either.

 _There are times I really wish this boat had WSKRs_ , he thought, trying not to grimace. _But the bean counters think they're too expensive, so the best they'll give us is a towed sonar array, which is next to useless at high speeds._ The only good thing about the restrictive technology level was that it was one the Macronesians seemed to share, so they wouldn't be able to hear the UEO boats any more than _Atlantis_ and _Scorpion_ could hear them. Not until they slowed down, anyway, by which point Jonathan intended to be well hidden.

The minutes ticked by without any further communication from _Scorpion_ ; Jonathan figured that Hudson wanted to get on scene before he started making decisions, which was much the same way Jonathan felt. Besides, they didn't exactly have a lot of options to pick from, so it wasn't like there was all that much to talk about, even if Hudson _was_ senior to Jonathan by a few months.

Finally, _Atlantis_ reached the intercept point and Jonathan gave the order to slow to five knots. The bottom was rather shallow here—just shy of three thousand feet—so he took his boat down as deep as he dared, keeping less than forty feet between the bottom of his keel and the ocean floor. Once there, they slowed even further, and settled in to wait. It was a struggle not to pace or hover behind any of his watchstanders, but ten minutes later, his patience started to bear fruit.

"Captain, I'm picking up the Macronesians on the towed array," his senior sonar operator reported. Miguel's relief wasn't as talented as Ortiz had been, but the chief was pretty damned good, so Jonathan had no complaints. "They're burning a hole in the water at about one hundred knots. Range… fifty thousand yards."

"Very well." Jonathan lowered himself into his chair slowly, resisting the urge to pace. Sometimes, the captain's job of remaining calm under pressure made him want to smash his face into a console—and he'd never liked waiting, either. Still, he'd been at the job long enough now to know how to at least _look_ confident, even when the odds were this bad.

"I've also got _Scorpion_ , bearing one-eight-seven. She's slowing to ten knots and closing the settlement at a range of three thousand yards."

 _I never thought I'd be so happy to see Oliver Hudson, but I guess pigs do fly_ , he thought with a slight smile.

" _Scorpion_ Actual is calling, sir," Lucy told him.

"Put it on my screen."

But before the communications officer could comply, a familiar voice came out over the low band, and Jonathan's dark face went white.

* * *

Lucas had spent over a half an hour staring blankly at the Internex logo before deciding that he wasn't going to manage to lose himself in a computer game—not this time. _Who needs to pretend to fight a war on the computer when there's a real one waiting for me?_ he thought. _The games just aren't as fun anymore when they're mimicking reality. Besides, it's not like I've had time for games lately anyway._

He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had logged onto the Internex for something other than business. The last three months since he had returned to _seaQuest_ felt like a giant blur, what with getting the boat ready, training, and now sea trials. Lucas had spent most of his personal time with friends during those months, and even then they were often talking about the boat. It was strange. After so long without _seaQuest_ as a part of his life, having the boat suddenly back and larger than life should have felt strange, but did not. They'd all put so much time into her during the last few months, each trying in their own way to bring back the lives they'd led on board the first boat…and trying to build something new.

 _And now it's time to see if all that work will pay off._ Lucas grimaced, turning on some music in an attempt to lighten his mood. But even listening to his favorite song did nothing for the sick feeling growing in his stomach.

Finally, he decided to head down to the moon pool on the sea deck and talk to Darwin. Minerva had stayed behind with Doctor Westphalen, but Darwin had insisted on going with _seaQuest_ for sea trials, which meant Lucas' old friend would be there. Darwin was probably the only one on board not anxious about the coming engagement, so he figured that talking to the dolphin might calm his nerves.

He hadn't expected to find someone else doing the same thing. Lucas entered the moon pool area just in time to hear the vocorder translate Darwin's clicks and whistles. "Bridger scared?"

"Nah, not really," the captain replied with a smile, stroking Darwin's beak. "Just...thoughtful."

Lucas considered heading back to his room. While things had improved greatly between him and the captain over the last two months, he'd also become better aware of the line between a captain and his crew. It was something he hadn't thought about when he'd chosen to join the Navy, but the need to act professionally was something that Lucas had finally wrapped his mind around. However, before he could leave, the captain caught sight of him and waved him over cheerfully.

"Lucas! What brings you down here?"

He went over and greeted Darwin with a pat. "Trying to clear my head."

"I know the feeling," Bridger said feelingly. "Most people won't admit it, but everyone has their pre-combat ritual. One of my old XOs and I used to play a hand of poker before we went in, assuming we had any warning."

There were a million questions racing through Lucas' mind. _Do you think we'll win? Do you think everything will work the way it's supposed to? Do you think Captain Ford will be okay? Is it okay to be scared?_ But he couldn't settle on just one to ask, and so he simply nodded to the captain's statement instead.

Bridger, however, seemed to read his expression. "It's all right to be scared, kiddo. This isn't quite like anything you've ever done before…and frankly, it's a hell of an introduction to combat for you. Hell, I wish we could have picked something a bit easier to start off with, myself."

"Like you said on the bridge, Captain, this is pretty similar to what happened with Westridge Farm back on the first _seaQuest_ ," Lucas said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "And there were plenty of times we were getting shot at. Or doing the shooting. Or having mass murderers running around the boat. Or terrorists..."

The captain only laughed softly, and suddenly Lucas felt very young. _Is this really that different?_

However, before Lucas could ask out loud, they were interrupted by his least favorite person. "Captain Bridger, you are _not_ authorized to take this boat for a joy ride!" Captain Clayton snapped, storming into the space.

Bridger straightened from where he was still leaning over to pet Darwin, and Lucas could read resigned frustration in every movement he made. "Captain Clayton, did you have something you wanted to add to our conversation?"

The UEO inspector gave Lucas a disparaging look, one that clearly said _Go away!_ When he spoke, his voice was an arrogant sneer.

"Why don't you excuse us _, Lieutenant?"_

Lucas glanced towards Captain Bridger. He was still walking on thin ice around Captain Clayton, but he'd be damned if he let himself get pushed around. But if Bridger wanted him to leave, he would go. _Bridger_ was his captain. Clayton was just a jerk with delusions of grandeur.

"No, Lucas. Stay," Bridger's voice was hard, and he glared up at the taller captain. "First of all, Captain Clayton, you don't give orders on _my_ boat. And what I am or am not authorized to do with _seaQuest_ is no business of yours—in case you've forgotten, I am the senior officer on board, and I will react as necessary when faced with a situation my orders did not anticipate."

"This boat has not yet gained my approval, and as the UEO inspector conducting these sea trials, I do _not_ authorize you to leave the testing area!" Clayton replied, practically bellowing.

"I don't give a damn what you've authorized," the captain retorted, his voice sharp. "And if you can't conduct yourself with a minimum of military courtesy, I'll have to ask you to confine yourself to the conference room."

 _He really does look like an overgrown walrus_ , Lucas couldn't help but think, especially as Captain Clayton stepped in close to Bridger, clearly trying to intimidate him. Unfortunately for Clayton, Lucas knew that the captain wasn't going to back down, no matter how much shorter he was than the giant walrus. _And it really takes some talent to make the captain lose his temper like this, too. I don't think I've_ ever _seen him so angry._

"You can't do that!" Clayton blustered.

"Can't I?" Bridger snapped. "Go check the lineal list, Captain, if you doubt my seniority. And while you're at it—"

Chris Schafer's voice cut the captain off before he could say more.

"Captain, Bridge. Sir, we're picking up a message on the low band. It's from the commander of the Macronesian fleet."

The captain's anger throttled down immediately, replaced by a look of intense concentration. Still, his voice was a tad sharp as he ordered: "Put in on."

Immediately, a vaguely familiar voice replaced Schafer's.

"…speaking to the citizens of Alfin Ridge. You are outnumbered and unable to resist us. If you surrender now, your transition to the Alliance of Macronesia will be simple and bloodless. But if you decide to oppose us, we will show you no mercy."

Lucas frowned, trying to figure out why the voice of the Macronesian officer sounded so familiar. This was the closest he'd come to having any interaction with the enemy confederation, aside from seeing news clips of President Bourne on the Internex. And that certainly wasn't him. Particularly since this voice was _female_.

"To the two UEO submarines in the vicinity of this settlement, leave the area immediately or be destroyed. This territory now belongs to Macronesia, and we are not willing to negotiate."

A moment passed, and then Schafer's voice came back. "That's it, sir. From what I can catch of the comms between the two subs, the other one is _Scorpion_ , commanded by Captain Hudson."

"Thank you, Chris. What's our range to Alfin Ridge?" The captain's voice sounded normal, but there was something in his expression that Lucas could not read. Something unhappy.

"Commander Hitchcock here, Captain," a different voice answered. "We're still more than 145 nautical miles out. ETA thirty minutes."

"Set General Quarters."

"Yes, sir," the XO's voice replied, and a split second later, the sound of the traditional klaxon alarm filled the sub.

Even having expected the alarm, it took Lucas a long moment to process what it meant. In the past, he would have just stayed in the moon pool with Darwin or headed back to his room while the captain went to the bridge. But now he had a job and a battle station, and while they still had thirty minutes before things would probably go to hell, he had to be ready now. He fell into step with the Captain, heading towards the bridge.

"Captain?" Lucas asked, hoping he would still be willing to speak openly with him before they reached the bridge and had to be superior and subordinate, instead of friends.

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong?" he inquired quietly. "Aside from the obvious, I mean."

"I recognize that voice." And Bridger's tone sounded like it was coming from somewhere icy and cold. "So will a lot of the crew."

He searched his memories again, this time stretching them back to his first tour on _seaQuest_. Realization dawned with growing horror.

"Marilyn Stark," Lucas exhaled.

"Bingo."


	17. First Contact

24 January 2024 – UEO _seaQuest_ Sea Trials, Day 5

"You want me to do _what_?"

Hudson scowled at him, looking tense and annoyed.  "Do I have to repeat myself, Jonathan?"

 _Yes,_ he didn’t say.  Instead, Jonathan spat:

"Let me get this straight.  Instead of doing the _sensible_ thing and laying an ambush, you want me to take my boat and paint a giant target on it, so the Macronesians can take pot shots at us, just so you can have a chance to play glory hound?" Jonathan bit back the urge to swear at the other captain.  Barely.

"You don't have to _like_ my plan to follow it," Hudson retorted.  "Do I have to remind you which one of us is senior?"

"You're right, I _don't_ like your plan," Jonathan replied, ignoring Hudson's attempt at starting another pissing contest.  "Especially since it's my boat that gets to play torpedo sponge!"

"I don't _care_ what you like or don't like, Captain Ford.  The plan I have outlined offers us the best chance of driving off the Macronesians and saving those people, who, as I _shouldn't_ have to remind you, are our primary concern!" Hudson shouted back, and then he seemed to take a hold of his temper with an effort.  "Your duty is to follow orders.  Now do it."

"That's just what she wants us to do.  What she'll be _expecting_ us to do.  Don't you get it? You're playing right into her hands!" he protested again, feeling more helpless than he ever had in his career—even worse than he had at Livingston Trench, back when Jonathan had realized that he might have a front row seat from which to watch Armageddon arrive.

"I'm doing nothing of the sort."

"Look, I _know_ Marilyn Stark.  I know what she's likely to do in a situation like this, and we don't know that she doesn't have any more subs lying in wait," he said, trying to sound reasonable—and get his own temper under control. 

Yelling at Oliver Hudson would get him nowhere.  Jonathan had to stay calm if he wanted to get through to the other captain—and he didn’t dare think about what might happen if he did not.  _Fifteen against two are bad enough odds as it is!  Why does he have to try to substitute stubbornness in for good tactics?_   It took every bit of self control he possessed to keep himself from shouting _that_ at the other captain, but Hudson would only remind him that he was four months senior to Jonathan and shut him down that way.

But Hudson wasn’t listening; in fact, he wasn’t even bothering to hide the fact that he was rolling his eyes.  "Why in the world would Stark bother to hide any additional subs when she already outnumbers us fifteen to two?" he asked rhetorically, and then continued before Jonathan could get a word in edgewise.  "Don't answer that.  Just get your boat into position.  _Scorpion_ , out."

"Damn it!" he swore at the UEO logo now filling his screen, before forcing out a deep breath.  _He's right on one thing, Jonathan.  Just because you don't like his orders doesn't mean you can ignore them.  No matter how much you want to._

Another long moment passed before he could make the call to the bridge to pass along their new orders without anger coloring his voice.  He would need at least another two minutes before he could calm himself down enough to go in person.  _Damn it, Oliver, you're going to get all of us killed!_

There was a bright side to things, however slight.  If they did manage to survive this mess, there was no way that Hudson would ever underestimate Stark again.  _Whatever good that’ll do us._

* * *

 _seaQuest_ was fifteen minutes out, and the Macronesians were ten.  Even at flank speed, the _fifteen_ Macronesian submarines were going to beat them to Alfin Ridge.  But _seaQuest_ had a lot of ground to cover, so that wasn’t much of a surprise.

 _Fifteen more minutes until the shit hits the fan,_ Ben thought to himself, wishing he could get up and walk circles around his console, but knowing that he had to stay at his station.  _And when it does, guess who gets to deal with it all? That’s right, old buddy, you do!_

Still unable to sit still, he had to force himself not to tap his foot nervously.  Katie and the captain both looked so _calm_ , and Ben didn’t want either of them having to wonder if he’d crack under the pressure.  _They’re trusting you on this, Ben.  You’d better not screw it up._ But his nerves weren’t helped by the fact that they hadn’t even finished testing all of the systems they might need during this fight.  _And with Stark involved, there’s little chance this won’t end up with a fight, no matter_ what _the captain wants._

“Chief, when we reach that ridgeline, bring our speed down and initiate station keeping,” Bridger ordered, still looking relaxed.  If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was pacing a little bit, Ben wouldn’t have even guessed that he was nervous, too.  _We’re bringing an untested boat into combat.  Why would he be nervous?  Why would anybody?  It’s only one of the_ stupider _things I’ve ever been a part of in my life, and that’s saying something._

“Yes, sir,” Carleton replied, and the captain swung to face Miguel.

“Slingshot a WSKR out in front of us, Mr. Ortiz.  I want to pop it over the ridge and knock on our neighbors’ doors—it’s time to let _Scorpion_ and _Atlantis_ know that they’ve got a friend on the way.”

“I’ll deploy WSKR five, sir.  It’s the closest.  She'll be over the ridge in...six minutes.”

“Very well.”

Aside from the captain's commands, the bridge was eerily silent.  "Did anyone think to run a check and make sure she didn't get into our computer systems again?" Ben asked jokingly, trying to defuse the tension.  "I mean, I know everything worked out great in the end and all last time, but I'd rather not go through that again.  Maybe we should have Darwin ready just in case?"

But even _he_ heard the tremor in his voice.  _Well done, Ben.  No one will notice how nervous you are when you babble like an idiot!_

Katie gave him a dirty look, but the captain actually cracked a smile.  He didn’t, however, reply.  Instead, he turned to speak to Tim.

“Mr. O’Neill, once that WSKR is in range, hit both UEO boats with a laser and let them know that _seaQuest_ was in the area on sea trials and is moving to assist them.”

Tim blinked.  “Is that…all, Captain?”

“Yes.”  Bridger’s calm expression finally melted into a grimace.  “Until we’re in range to make sure there’s nothing between the WSKR and our friends, I want to keep a lid on any information the Macronesians might use.  For now, that means keeping our allies a bit in the dark, but that can’t be helped.  We’ll tell them more once we’re in range of _seaQuest’s_ communications systems.”

“Aye, sir.”  Tim still looked unhappy, though, and Ben couldn’t blame him—there was nothing like diving into a knife fight to back up a friend who didn’t know you were there.

* * *

" _Who_ is in the area doing sea trials?"

Lucy blinked, and then turned wide eyes to face him.  "They say that they're… _seaQuest_ , sir."

A moment passed in silence as everyone on _Atlantis’_ bridge stared at the communications officer.

"Let me hear the message,” Jonathan finally ordered, still wondering if he was having auditory hallucinations.  The fact that Lucy had already repeated the boat’s name twice was the only thing keeping Jonathan from asking her to do so a third time, but none of this made any sense.  There _wasn’t_ a _seaQuest._   Not anymore, and no one knew that better than Jonathan did.

"Aye, sir,” his communications officer responded. She hit a few buttons on her console, shifting the playback to the bridge speakers.  A moment later, a geeky voice that he'd know anywhere said:

“ _Scorpion, Atlantis,_ this is _seaQuest_ , coming up on your position from the northeast.  We have been conducting sea trials in the area and are moving to assist.”

There was that name again, and if it was _Tim_ on the other end, this had to be real.  Immediately, part of him  wanted to shout with joy, but Jonathan managed to restrain himself to just a smile.  _seaQuest_ was good news—any help heading their way was good news—but there were too many things to consider for him to start celebrating now.  If they were on sea trials, she might not be able to offer that much assistance.  _And you don't know who's in command_ , _either, so don’t get your hopes up._ Jonathan fought back a grimace.  _Hell, two minutes ago, you didn’t even know there_ was _a_ seaQuest _, so jumping for joy might be just a bit premature._ The entire situationleft Jonathan feeling a bit like he’d just gone through a blender. 

Mark’s expression mirrored the one Jonathan was pretty sure he wore; shock mixed with doubt, with just a little bit of suspicion thrown in for good measure.  The XO walked over to stand next to Jonathan again, leaving the fire control party to fend for themselves.  “ _seaQuest_ was destroyed,” he said quietly.  “Wasn’t she?”

“I’ve got nothing on sonar, Captain,” Chief Morris volunteered.  “Not even on the towed array.  Everything to the north or northeast is clear.  Nothing's moving out there."

"Yeah. But I recognize the officer sending that message, and if there was a new _seaQuest_ , you could bet that Tim O'Neill would be at communications," Jonathan replied, his heart beating fast.

“Can we be sure this isn’t just some kind of Macronesian trick, boss?  Voice prints can be faked,” Mark pointed out, still not looking convinced. 

He frowned thoughtfully.  "What would that do for them, though? We'll figure out quickly enough if it's a trap or not."

"I suppose so.  Still..." His XO trailed off, and Lucy filled the silence with another report.

“Captain, _Scorpion_ has gone out to _seaQuest_ and assumed tactical command.”

Jonathan knew what that meant, even if he thought Hudson was being a bit quick off the mark.  Traditionally, when a new boat reported into an operational area, the senior captain notified them that he or she was in tactical command of the situation...but it was just like Oliver Hudson to do so without even waiting for confirmation of what he had just heard.

"Any reply from _seaQuest_?" he asked.  Curiosity gnawed at him.

“Um…” Lucy frowned, concentrating on whatever she was hearing over her headphones.  “Just a number, Captain.  An eight digit one.  I think…it might be a lineal number?”

Mark immediately grabbed the lineal list from where it lived underneath _Atlantis'_ chart table.  The list was a catalog of every active duty commander, captain, and flag officer in the UEO Navy and all of their allied services.  Each was assigned a simple eight digit number for easy reference in order of seniority, with lower numbers belonging to those who were more senior.

"Go ahead," Jonathan said, prompting the young lieutenant to read off the number so Mark could look it up.

"Zero-one-zero-two-six-three-zero-zero," Lucy replied after a moment, clearly playing the number back so that she couldn't get it wrong.  To Jonathan's right, Mark immediately punched it into the electronic reader, and then went still.

Jonathan knew from his own lineal number (something commanders of all types of ships had memorized; his was **01535500** ) that it had to be an extremely senior captain.  And if that _was_ _seaQuest_ out there...  His brain had hardly had time to catch up with his instincts when Mark wordlessly held the reader out to him.

 **01212350 Bridger, Nathan H CAPT… YRGRP 85… DOR 20040519**

The shout for joy was a lot harder to restrain this time, but he managed.  "Lucy, see if you can get a line through to _seaQuest_."

 _Maybe this won't be a massacre after all,_ he thought.  _Not if Captain Bridger is in charge.  Oh, what I wouldn't give to see Oliver's face right about now!_ Jonathan couldn’t help bouncing on his toes, just a little bit.  _Bridger only outranks him by about a light year.  So much for_ Hudson _taking tactical command!_

“Aye, sir.”  A minute ticked by before she shook her head, and Jonathan felt butterflies dancing in his stomach the entire time.  One look at Marks’ face told him that his XO felt the same way, though he still did look more skeptical than Jonathan felt.  _I suppose one of us has to have doubts, so I’m glad he does, since I can’t.  Not now, anyway._ “No joy, sir.  They’re not responding.”

"Very well. Let _Scorpion_ know that _Atlantis_ is maintaining position until we receive new orders from _seaQuest_ ," Jonathan ordered.

"Aye, sir." Lucy seemed to be trying not to smile as she relayed the message.  Jonathan knew that Hudson wouldn’t be nearly so happy about it, but since the senior captain had been talking to _Stark_ (Jonathan still hadn’t gotten over the shock of her presence enough to speak to her) for the last ten minutes and trying to buy time for _Atlantis_ to “evacuate” the colony, Ford supposed he was too busy to argue.

Still standing next to Jonathan, Mark wasn't even bothering to restrain his relief.  However, his voice was still professional as he turned to the OOD and told him to slow _Atlantis_ and initiate station keeping.

“Captain, I’ve got a new contact on sonar…really tiny.  Something only a few meters across, I think.  It’s not a sub—there’s no screw noises, and no power plant I can hear—but it’s hanging out right by the rocks on our side of the ridge bearing zero-eight-seven,” Chief Morris spoke up as the boat slowed to five knots.

His cheeks hurt, he was grinning so much.  _There goes your reputation as a hard ass, Jonathan._ "Let's say hello to our old friend Mr. Ortiz.  Flash the running lights," he told Mark.  _See how Miguel likes that one._

“Captain?” Mark moved to obey, but was shooting him one of those patented _You’ve gone off your rocker_ looks that XOs did so well.  Hell, Jonathan had practiced that expression enough during his time as Bridger's XO! It was one he knew well, though thinking about _seaQuest_ made him wonder who was filling his old job over there.

For a moment, the thought hurt like hell, until he forced his mind back to the matter at hand.

"There's only one person I can imagine who'd be operating _seaQuest's_ WSKRs," Jonathan replied.  "Miguel will make sure to tell Captain Bridger we acknowledge their presence."

Mark flashed the running lights before replying.  "Now what, boss?"

He knew the answer as well as Jonathan did, of course, but the crew needed to hear it.

"Now we wait," he said.  _And hope like hell Captain Bridger has a plan._

* * *

“We’re at the ridge, Captain.  Initiating station keeping at fifty-five hundred feet,” Chief Carleton reported.

“Very well.”  Nathan still hadn’t sat down in his chair; somehow, doing that would make everything _real._ But he was quickly finding that he couldn’t exactly stand in his old favorite stance with his hands behind his back—not with his left arm still in a sling, he couldn’t.  That left him with nothing to do with his right hand, short of sticking it in his pocket, which wasn’t exactly part of the image of a successful submarine commander.

 _Ah, hell, who am I fooling, anyway? Most of these people know me too well._ And Clayton was _still_ glaring.  Bridger ignored him and stuffed his right hand into his pocket.

“Can you hit _Scorpion_ or _Atlantis_ with a laser from this depth, Mr. O’Neill?” he asked, watching the chart display on his own screen. 

“ _Scorpion_ is on the wrong side of the tallest part of the ridge right now, but their current course takes them into laser range within four minutes.  _Atlantis_ I can hit now,” Tim replied promptly.  “Should I call up a link, Captain?”

"Do it."

A moment later, Tim hit the keys to relay the call to the main screen.  "Captain Ford for you, sir."

Nathan stepped away from his console as the familiar face appeared, trying to fight back his smile.  "Looks like you've got a bit of a problem here, Jonathan."

Jonathan was scowling at him.  "Looks like _you've_ been keeping secrets, Captain."

“More than you know.” He shouldn't have said it, but the words came out before he could resist the urge.  _Control your crooked sense of humor, Nathan! It's gotten you into trouble more than once, and you can't afford that today.  Not sitting on the wrong end of fifteen-to-three odds._

Apparently though, the other sub commander couldn't restrain himself any longer, because a grin split his dark face.  "It's good to see you, sir.  And it's good to see _seaQuest_ , too.  Even if you didn’t tell me you were building another one."

"It's nice to be appreciated," Nathan quipped, and then forced himself to be serious.  "What are you doing all the way out by the settlement while _Scorpion_ lurks off to the north?"

The grin was replaced by a scowl.  "Oliver Hudson's brilliant plan to use _Atlantis_ as a distraction," he replied.

 _I was afraid of that,_ Nathan couldn’t say.  Not with his entire bridge crew watching, anyway.  Still, Jonathan could probably read the look on his face; they both knew Hudson well enough to anticipate this one.  He kept his voice as noncommittal as possible when he replied:

“I think we can adjust that plan a little, now, since _seaQuest_ has changed the equation a bit.”

"Did you hear the communication the Macronesian commander put out?" Jonathan asked, looking suddenly very serious.  Only those who had known him as long as Nathan had would notice the worry, too.

“I did,” Nathan answered, keeping his own concern concealed.  Jonathan didn’t need that right now, even if he was probably the only one other than Nathan who really appreciated the situation they were in.  _She was my best student_ , he thought without wanting to.  _The best of the best.  That’s why they gave her_ seaQuest _, and why I was so happy to hear about that, even though I pretended not to care._ And now he knew that he had one shot to do this right—Marilyn only got caught by surprise once, so he’d have to make his move a good one. 

"I hate to ask, Captain, but just how far along are you in sea trials?"

“I’ve got _Scorpion_ Actual, Captain.  Shall I join him into the call?” Tim said before Nathan could respond.

At that moment, Nathan would have liked nothing better than to tell Oliver Hudson what to do with himself, but now was not the time.  Now he had to work with the man, even if he didn’t like his tactics.  _Or his attitude._ “Go ahead, Mr. O’Neill.”

There was a slight _blip_ , and then the screen split in half, with Hudson filling the right side and Jonathan the left.  Nathan forced a slight smile.  “Afternoon, Oliver.”

Hudson looked ready to spit nails.  "Captain Bridger.  So nice of you to join us.  I hope you've had the chance to make sure everything on your boat works properly?" he asked.  There was just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Let’s just say that I’m certain we’ll give the Macronesians one hell of a nasty surprise,” he replied, making sure that his temper was firmly under control first.  _Be fair, Nathan.  They’ve got legitimate concerns.  You_ don’t _know for sure if everything works…you’re just banking on having so many toys that some of them have to come through._

His eyes flicked over to meet Ford's.  "Including our old friend Marilyn."

"Are you even _armed_?" Hudson asked.  "Or are you just planning on them turning tail when they see you coming?"

 _Now wait just a minute—_ Nathan stomped down on the urge to spit fire at Hudson.  Hard.  Not far away, Clayton was smirking, but Nathan ignored that, too.  _I bet those two get along smashingly._

“Quite,” he said dryly, and then continued before Hudson could get a word in.  “Here’s the plan.  I assume you’ve been talking to the Macronesians and trying to buy time by offering to evacuate the settlers.  I want you to keep doing that, but move _Scorpion_ over into a blocking position in front of Alfin Ridge.  I want you and _Atlantis_ positioned to intercept any torpedoes they throw that way, because they _will_ once the fur starts to fly.”

Marilyn would do that out of spite if nothing else; she was one of the most talented tacticians Nathan had ever met, but once her temper was up, there was no controlling her.  _And her temper is going to be_ raging _once she sees this boat_.

"Aye, sir," Jonathan replied without hesitation.  Nathan didn’t wait for Hudson to object before asking:

“How long do you need to get your boat into position?”

"Six minutes," the other captain grated out, looking annoyed.  But he couldn't refuse to answer the question, or to follow the orders—he was as aware of Nathan's seniority as Nathan was.

"Good.  Once you're there, I'll warn them off one last time, and if they refuse to leave, _seaQuest_ will come over the ridge and remind them of the folly of their ways."

"You want us both to sit there and take shots from them while neither of us is in range to fight back?" Hudson asked skeptically.  "You're ceding the initiative to them."

He had a good point, actually.  Of course, the problem was that Macronesian torpedoes had a longer range than any in the UEO arsenal, even than those that _seaQuest_ carried.  Try as Nathan’s designers had, they had not been able to figure out how to enhance the range of the UEO’s torpedoes without sacrificing a great deal of accuracy, and the trade off had just not been worth it.  Of course, in a situation like this, with fifteen boats breathing down their necks, Nathan was somewhat tempted to disregard his previous analysis…but not too much.  The range difference was only a few thousand yards, and all three UEO boats should be able to close the range before they were hit.

"You know, now that I think about it, that doesn’t sound that much different than your plan," Jonathan pointed out, smiling sweetly.  "Except this time we're both targets, instead of just _Atlantis_."

 “Jonathan.”  Nathan shot him a warning look, and then continued as emotionlessly as he could manage.  “We don’t have a choice in that matter.  In case you’ve forgotten, our rules of engagement dictate that we _cannot_ fire until fired upon.  So, we either have to let them fire first, or encourage them to leave.  Now, I’m not thinking that the latter is going to happen, so I’m counting on _seaQuest_ coming over that ridge like a bat out of Hell to make Marilyn Stark’s temper override her common sense.  Once they open fire, close to your max effective range and return fire—but _don’t_ forget that your main purpose will be to defend the settlement.  Keep at least half your tubes full of intercepts at all times.”

Hudson seemed slightly mollified now that Nathan was offering him the opportunity to shoot someone.  Aggressive as he was, Nathan _did_ trust the other captain to do his duty.  Hudson might have preferred to be in the thick of the fight, but he'd always protect UEO citizens.

“Questions?” he asked after letting both captains absorb his plan.

Neither Ford nor Hudson objected, and Hudson cut the connection almost immediately to maneuver his boat into position.  Jonathan hung around for a moment longer, speaking up once Hudson was gone.  His tone was teasing, but Nathan’s old XO was frowning just a little. 

"I don't think this is the stupidest thing I've ever followed you into, sir, but it's sure up there."

"Trust me, we've done stupider," Nathan replied with a chuckle, projecting as much confidence into his voice as he could muster.  "Watch your back, Jonathan."

"I'll watch yours if you watch mine."

"Deal."

He nodded to Tim, and the Ops officer ended the call.  For a moment, Nathan wished that he could have shared some of his concerns with Jonathan—but no.  He couldn’t.  Jonathan might not be his XO, now, but he was still under Nathan’s tactical command, and the last thing he needed to know right now was that Bridger was a tad concerned over how well _seaQuest_ would perform in the coming melee.  _Something’s going to go wrong,_ Nathan reminded himself.  _Something always does._

No battle plan ever survived first contact with the enemy, after all.  Every captain worth his pay knew that one, and Nathan had lived by that rule for a very long time.  Even with a boat like _seaQuest_ , something always went wrong.

He turned back to his crew, wearing his confident face again.  “Weapons Officer,” Nathan said formally, “load tubes one through twenty four with electro-static torpedoes and make them ready in all respects.  Do not open the outer doors.”

 _seaQuest_ could load and flood her tubes without attracting much attention, but opening the outer doors might be picked up by the Macronesians’ passive sonar.  The chances of that happening were small at this range, especially with the ridge to shield them, but Nathan was not about to take anything for granted.

“Load tubes one through twenty four with electro-static torpedoes and make them ready in all respects.  Do not open the outer doors, aye, sir,” Brody replied promptly, and Nathan was glad to hear that his voice was calm.  The lieutenant might not have ever experienced combat on a submarine before, but he was certainly no stranger to battle.  To his right, manning the interceptor panel, Lucas did not look nearly so confident, but the kid was holding it together. Nathan was proud of him—proud of all of them.

The bridge was silent as Brody’s hands danced over the panel with the practiced ease born of hours in the simulator.  _Katie, I bet the crew never thought they’d be so happy you’re such a task driver,_ Nathan thought with a smile, but the satisfied comment died on his lips as Brody reported:

“Tubes one through sixteen loaded and flooded.  Getting no response from aft torpedo tubes.”

“On it.” Nathan was half-surprised to hear Krieg respond so quickly, even though it had been his idea to assign Ben at the DC panel.  Unfortunately, the news wasn’t good, even if Ben’s voice was light when he added: "Ah, sir? Our friend Mr. Murphy is back.”

 _I take back my surprise.  That useless answer is vintage Ben Krieg._ “Oh?” Nathan prompted him, trying to keep annoyance out of his voice.  The effort failed.  "Would you care to share the details of his arrival?"

"Oh, right.  We've got flooding in the aft torpedo room again.  I'm ballasting forward to compensate and the emergency team is on their way," Ben replied.

“Very well,” he replied.  After all, there wasn’t anything else to say, and at least he still had sixteen torpedo tubes to play with.  That was seven more than the old _seaQuest_ had possessed, so it would have to do.  Nathan turned to Katie with a smile and a shrug that was meant for the rest of the crew as much as it was for her.  “Well, something did have to go wrong.”

"We're certainly doing better than last time we faced Stark, sir," Katie replied, giving him a tight smile in return.

"I hope so.  I'm not really in the mood to fix the boat with nothing other than baling wire and duct tape today."

"What about super glue and a soldering iron?" Katie tossed back.

“Maybe later,” he chuckled, and then turned again.  “Sonar, stand by to go active when we come over the ridge.  Feed data directly to fire control.”

“Sir, I’ve got good passive data from the WSKRs,” Miguel objected.

“I know, Mr. Ortiz.  But I want them to hear us coming.  In fact, I want to piss them off.”  His grin wasn’t subtle, not now.  “Hit everything in sight, and keep on pinging until we start firing.”

Miguel laughed, and the sudden burst of relief seemed to wash over the bridge.  As usual, humor had done the trick.  “I can do that, Captain.”

 _If they’re watching us, they’re not shooting at the settlement._ Nathan checked the digital time display on his console.  _Scorpion_ should just now be sliding into position, and that meant that the time for preparations was over.

“Anything else from Stark?” he asked Tim, allowing himself to use her name for the first time in front of the crew.

“No, sir.  She seems to be waiting.”

“Then I do think that it’s show time, ladies and gentlemen.”  Finally, he settled into his own seat, noticing how several watchstanders sat up straighter upon seeing him do so.  “Punch me up onto the low band, Tim.”

"Aye, sir."

He couldn't resist turning to Katie one last time.  "Did I ever tell you how much I _hate_ public speaking?"

"You do it so well, sir," Katie replied.  _She's teasing me, isn't she?_

"Very funny."

She flashed him a grin.  "If you want, I'm sure we could get Ben to write you something.  We all know how good _he_ is at that sort of thing now."

“Don’t even think about it, Mr. Krieg,” Nathan snorted instead of replying to her, knowing that Ben was just gearing up for another sarcastic response.

“You’re on, sir,” Tim announced, and Nathan took a deep breath before speaking.  _At least joking around makes my nerves shut up!_   Ironically, the prospect of battle didn’t bother him nearly so much as any type of public speaking did.  _Get on with it, Nathan!  They’re not paying you by the hour, you know._

“Unidentified Macronesian vessels, this is UEO warship Four-Eight-Zero-Zero.  You have entered the territorial waters of a UEO settlement and your intentions are unknown.  If you have arrived here as a result of a navigational error, the best course to Macronesian waters is two-six-nine degrees true.  If you require chart updates, we will be happy to assist you.

“However, if you do not reverse course immediately, we will have to declare your intentions hostile.  I say again, reverse course immediately, or I will fire upon you.”

 _That ought to get Marilyn’s attention_.  But there was no time for other thoughts; he had work to do.  A shiver ran down Nathan’s spine; he had tried to forget how exciting combat was, but he suddenly felt more _alive_ than he had in years. 

“Twenty degree up bubble, make your depth twenty-five hundred feet.  All engines ahead full.”

“Twenty degree up bubble, make my depth twenty-five hundred feet.  All engines are ahead full,” Chief Carleton repeated briskly, and _seaQuest_ surged forward, with the deck angling steeply.  Her speed shot upwards even as the bow began to climb the ridge.

“Open all outer doors, Mr. Brody,” Nathan ordered, just as Ortiz reported:

“Going active!  Painting targets on eighteen—I say again, one- _eight_ —Macronesian submarines.”

 


	18. Nightmares and Bogey-Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, we're being good about updating! This one's a bit longer than usual, but fairly action-packed, so we hope you enjoy!!

24 January 2024 – UEO _seaQuest_ Sea Trials, Day 5

"Captain, we're being actively pinged!"

The captain frowned in response to her sonarman's proclamation.  Marilyn knew that Jonathan Ford would not be so stupid, and what little she had seen of Oliver Hudson showed that he likely wouldn't be, either.

_Despite that fool plan of his.  Did he really think I would forget that his boat was there and focus my attention solely on_ Atlantis? _Idiot._

"Ma'am, the contact it's coming from is huge! It just came up over that ridge, and is opening outer torpedo tube doors!"

She didn't get a chance to ask for details before her communications officer interrupted.

"Ma'am, the contact has broadcast a message." Without waiting for her order, he replayed it on the overhead.

_“Unidentified Macronesian vessels, this is UEO warship Four-Eight-Zero-Zero.  You have entered the territorial waters of a UEO settlement and your intentions are unknown.  If you have arrived here as a result of a navigational error, the best course to Macronesian waters is two-six-nine degrees true.  If you require chart updates, we will be happy to assist you._

_“However, if you do not reverse course immediately, we will have to declare your intentions hostile.  I say again, reverse course immediately, or I will fire upon you.”_

Marilyn swore.  She _knew_ that voice; it had haunted her nightmares for years now.  But he had said _warship 4800_ , not _seaQuest_.

_What are you up to, Nathan? Is this another one of your bluffs?_ Or was he reverting to the old wartime standards that had been hammered into both their skulls so many years ago?  Whatever he was doing, though, Bridger was _there,_ not holed up in some think tank at Pearl.  She was going to _kill_ General Stassi the next time she saw him.  _Bridger is working on an unknown weapons project, my ass!_

"They have target lock on us," her Weapons officer declared.

"Get a lock on them," she snapped in return.  "Fire everything!"

* * *

“Torpedoes in the water bearing two-eight-seven, two-eight-two, two-seven-seven—everything right to two-four-five.  It’s a whole lot of torpedoes, Captain.  At least twenty, coming our way.  A second salvo is heading towards _Atlantis_ and _Scorpion._ ”

“Intercepts,” Bridger ordered, and even though Lucas was expecting the command, he still jumped slightly.

“Intercepts, aye,” he managed to say, surprised at how his hands danced over the keys on their own.  _Guess all those hours in the simulator were useful, after all!_ But even if they knew what to do, there was a tremor in his fingers Lucas could not quite overcome.

Miguel’s data was already feeding directly into the fire control system, and targets populated his display.  _Lots_ of targets.  Designating the ten closest, Lucas hit the firing key.  “First salvo away,” his voice reported, its steadiness surprising him.  _seaQuest_ only had ten intercept tubes, but each of them had a revolving magazine and could reload in less than two seconds.  He designated the next set, allotting only one interceptor for each torpedo and praying that none of them missed.  “Second salvo away.”

The sonar officer had been off in his estimate; there were twenty-eight torpedoes homing in on the boat.  Distantly, Lucas was aware of _seaQuest_ twisting into a radical turn, coming hard to starboard and closing the range with terrifying swiftness.  _Fantastic.  We have to get closer to them to fire back, but that makes the rate of closure for their torpedoes something like four hundred knots!_

He focused on the console in front of him; running the numbers in his head would do nothing to stop those torpedoes from finding their mark, and he didn’t need to do the calculations to know they would be there _soon_.  Lucas selected the last eight intercepts and hit the firing key again.  “Third salvo away.  All interceptors fired, captain.”

“Very well.  Stand by countermeasures.”  How _did_ he sound so calm?  Bridger had been right; this was nothing like any battles Lucas had experienced before.  _At least the interceptor system didn’t jam.  And I’ve got my finger on the countermeasure release button in case they miss._ But countermeasures were merely old-school noisemakers, and they weren’t very effective against modern torpedoes.  If the torpedoes outfoxed the intercepts… _Don’t think about that now!_ Lucas hit the reload key with his other hand and watched the tubes turn green on his display.

Tiny underwater missiles travelling at over 350 knots, the interceptors raced out to meet the Macronesian torpedoes, and the first ones were already exploding well ahead of _seaQuest_ by the time Bridger ordered:

“All engines stop.  Diving officer, initiate station keeping.  Mr. Brody—”

“We’re being hailed, Captain.”  Tim’s voice sounded surprised as he interrupted.

“Ignore them.  I have nothing to say to those people.” Lucas resisted the urge to laugh as Bridger continued, his voice clipped and quick.  “Sonar, secure pinging.  Mr. Brody, open fire.”

“Open fire, aye, sir!” Brody was probably the only one on the bridge _not_ holding his breath; he sounded excited.  The weapons officer’s hands flew over the console.  _I hope nothing breaks this time…_

“Tubes one through sixteen fired electrically.  Closing outer doors and reloading—” Brody cut off.  “Belay that.  I have a hang fire in tube three.  Tube three did not fire.  Starting self-checks—”

Now Bridger cut him off.  “Negative.  Flood the tube and shut the fish down.”

“On it, Captain.”

“Fifteen torpedoes running hot, straight, and normal,” Miguel reported.

“Reload tubes one and two, four through sixteen, and make them ready in all respects, including opening the outer doors.”

Lucas had been listening with half an ear while he watched his own display.  Now he waited for Brody to acknowledge the order and announced: “All enemy torpedoes intercepted, Captain.”

He couldn’t hide the relief in his voice.  Everything had happened so quickly, from _seaQuest_ coming over the ridge to the captain’s acknowledgement of his statement.  There really hadn’t been any time to focus on fear or nerves once the action had started, but he could still feel his heart racing madly in his chest.  But he hadn’t gotten _seaQuest_ hit, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

_Spectre’s_ designers had not been able to completely duplicate the old _seaQuest’s_ WSKRs, but they’d come close, even if the stealth sub only had the bandwidth to manage one roving periscope at a time.  Still, she was able to get a good visual of the familiar hammer-headed silhouette as _Spectre_ dove beneath the fray.  The crew had intercepted the only torpedo that had managed to lock onto her quiet boat—and that one had only been able to track them because Bridger had gone _active._ Why _had_ he done something so stupid?  He’d given his position away to every one of her subs, which might have had difficulty tracking _seaQuest_ if he had stayed silent.  The most galling thing, though, was that the stupidity had worked out for him, and allowed the UEO to target her.

Not far away, _Wraith_ and _Phantom_ also went to the bottom.  _seaQuest_ had intercepted every torpedo they’d thrown at her, Stark noted with a frown, so it was time to reevaluate.  If she opened fire, all three UEO boats would reacquire the stealth subs.  _Torpedoes are like breadcrumbs,_ Bridger used to say.  _They won’t lead you home, but they_ will _let someone else home in on you.  And sooner or later, you run out of bread._

_seaQuest_ was slowing.  If Nathan was willing to sit there and take their fire, he thought he could withstand it.  He’d always been a big believer in stealth, so if he was abandoning that mantra, he was either bluffing or had no reason to hide.

_Fifteen torps in the water says he’s not bluffing.  Does he have that many tubes, or did he launch two salvoes and set one for delayed activation?_

“Captain, _Paramatta_ , _Melbourne_ , and _Greenwich_ are down,” her communications officer reported.  “ _Dante_ , _Sacra_ , and _Alizon_ have taken hits.  _Alizon_ is abandoning ship.  They say they can’t save her.”

“The settlement?”  Stark would prefer to _take_ Alfin Ridge, but she’d ordered it destroyed the moment _seaQuest_ showed up.

“Intact.  Those new interceptors of theirs are good, ma’am.” She resisted the urge to scowl at how impressed he sounded.  The new interceptors _were_ good.  She only wished the idiot engineers Bourne hired could manage to duplicate them.

_At least our torpedoes are still longer ranged than theirs’ are.  That’s worth a lot._

“Three more boats are reporting hits from _Scorpion_ and _Atlantis_ ,” her XO added, listening in on the same feed.  “ _Mariah_ is going down fast.”

_Nine boats out of eighteen hit.  Half my force still hasn’t taken damage, but I’ve walked into a meat grinder._ She fought back the urge to pace and swear.

Ever since losing _seaQuest_ , Marilyn had a harder time controlling her temper and the irrational need for revenge.  She’d laughed when the UEO recommended psychiatric counseling, but a few years ago, she had finally realized they were right, at least to some degree.  She wasn’t the type to ask others for help, but she had realized she hadn’t been herself when she’d engaged the first _seaQuest_ ; if she had, she would never have lost that battle.  Stark was still angry—still _furious—_ but she had taken the time to help herself, and was better able to focus her rage, now.  _Live to fight another day,_ her CO had hammered into her during the Aegean Campaign.  She _could_ beat them, but Stark would have to decimate Macronesia’s best fleet to do it…and that would have disastrous consequences in the long term.

“Signal all units.  Make best speed for Macronesian waters and meet at Rendezvous Bravo,” she ordered.

Let them think she was running away.  In time, they’d regret letting her.

* * *

 “Aspect change on targets—they’re running, Captain!” His sonar officer’s voice sounded shocked, and for a moment, Hudson couldn’t quite comprehend the words.

“They’re _what?_ ” he demanded.

“They’re running, sir.  All thirteen of the surviving boats are turning tail and heading back the way they came—one of them is lagging behind, sounds like some pretty good engineering damage.  But I can confirm it.  They’re on their way out.”

Hudson had a split second to make a decision, and he wasn’t about to waste it.  “Conning Officer, take us after them.  Let’s kill the cripple first.”

His conning officer started to pass orders to the helm, but before he’d finished, the communications officer interjected—

“We’re getting word from _seaQuest_ , Captain.  Orders are to maintain station.”

“Orders are to _what_?” he snapped before he could stop himself, but waved an angry hand before the message could be repeated.  “Never mind.  I heard you.”

His eyes flew back to the tactical display.  Bridger wanted to do _what_?  They’d just sunk five boats in less than two minutes, and damaged four more, one fairly seriously, and Bridger wanted to do _nothing_?  Hudson wanted to scream, but he knew from experience that doing so would accomplish nothing.  All it would do was make his crew realize what a softened tech-head _seaQuest_ ’s captain had become, and the UEO military really didn’t need to know that the commanding officer of their flagship didn’t have the stones to continue the fight.

“Get me _seaQuest_ ,” he ordered instead.

* * *

 “Let them go, Oliver,” Bridger said, an edge of warning in his voice.  Jonathan had been opening his mouth to argue, too, but the captain’s look stopped him.

“I know we have the upper hand right now, but we _don’t_ have authorization to enter Macronesian waters, and although _Scorpion_ might be able to keep up with them, _Atlantis_ doesn’t have the speed to do so.  More importantly, your magazines are running low, and _seaQuest_ has a testing loadout, not a combat load.  I’ve got more fish left than you do, but not by much.  Not enough to take care of whatever ambush Marilyn Stark is going to lay for us.”

“We don’t _know_ they’re laying an ambush, Nathan,” Hudson pointed out.

“No, and we don’t know they _aren’t_ , either.  My decision is final.”

Jonathan felt it was time to speak up.  “What are we going to do about Stark, Captain?”

A shadow passed over Bridger’s face, and he met Jonathan’s eyes briefly.  Hudson was wearing his impatient expression again—but he didn’t _know_ Stark, and Oliver had no idea what they were dealing with.  Sure, he’d listened when Jonathan had told him who she was, but as far as Oliver Hudson was concerned, Marilyn Stark was just another enemy who needed to be defeated.  She wasn’t a bogey-man returned from the dead.

“There’s not much we can do, other than warn the UEO that one of our own has apparently joined the enemy.  Again.”  Bridger shrugged.  “I’m not sure if they’ll care since she left the service six years ago—but Stark _is_ one of the best in the business.  If she’s commanding Macronesia’s subsurface fleet, we need to be wary.”

"And now _seaQuest_ isn't a secret," Jonathan said, trying to keep the reproach out of his voice.  Now certainly wasn’t the time to have that conversation with Captain Bridger.

Bridger smiled wryly.  “And now _seaQuest_ is no longer a secret,” he admitted.  “But it was worth the sacrifice, I think.  Hopefully, we’ve just served notice to Macronesia that they can’t rule the seas without opposition.”

"I'm surprised she ran away.  Not her style," Jonathan commented with surprise.  _Sending one of her other boats into a suicide charge while she made a clean getaway, maybe, but running away quietly? Not the Marilyn Stark I knew._ But he didn’t need to say that out loud.

"Beating them in one place isn't going to scare them into stopping, Nathan," Hudson interjected.  "They're in this for power, and even _seaQuest_ isn't going to accomplish that."

"Stark will focus her attention almost exclusively on _seaQuest_ instead of the UEO colonies.  And _seaQuest_ can fight back," Jonathan replied before Bridger could answer.

Hudson rolled his eyes.  “She’s not that stupid.”

"I agree, actually," Bridger put in, looking regretful.  "She isn't.  And the Marilyn Stark we ran into today is much more like the one I knew—not the one we ran into a few years ago, Jonathan.  This one plays it smart, and she runs away when she needs to.  Better to live to fight another day than to die needlessly."

Jonathan frowned.  "I'm not sure if it's better if you're right or I am.  At least we could predict what she would do if she was focused on _seaQuest_."

"I think I'd rather _you_ be right," his old captain snorted.  "Unfortunately, I don't think we have the luxury of making that assumption."

"And while we're sitting here chatting, the Macronesians are getting away.  Hell, they've even had time to recover the survivors off their downed boats while we've dithered," Hudson snapped.

"Grant me a little bit of intelligence, Oliver," Nathan chuckled.  _Only he could laugh at a time like this._ "I tagged them with a WSKR the moment they turned to leave.  We'll be able to make sure they leave UEO waters, at least."

"So we just sit here until they do," Hudson continued to scowl, clearly wanting to be _doing_ something rather than just waiting.  Honestly, Jonathan understood how he felt—he'd rather be chasing the Macronesians out of UEO territory, too, but they weren't officially at war yet, and the rules of engagement still only allowed them to fire in self defense.

"Yes.  We do." Jonathan recognized that warning look, and he thought that even Oliver was starting to get the message.  "I don't like it any more than you do, but it's what we have to do."

Bridger paused and waited; after a moment, Hudson finally nodded—reluctantly, but still a nod.  "Either of you have any questions?"

“No, sir,” Jonathan replied immediately.

“No,” Hudson grated out, and a few moments later, the three captains terminated the call.  Jonathan sighed wearily after their images faded.

_And now we wait for Marilyn to make her next move._

* * *

 “That’s the long and the short of it, Bill,” Nathan said tiredly, scraping his hands over his face.  Dinner hadn’t exactly been gourmet, and the post-combat adrenaline letdown was beginning to hit him like a ton of bricks.  Previous experience told Nathan that although he could command in battle with confidence and even smile or laugh about what was happening, afterwards he became cranky and exhausted—which was why he had retreated to his cabin to talk to an old friend.

Tim had launched the communications buoy once it was clear that the Macronesians were retreating, and Nathan had called to make a report as soon as he was certain they were home free.  Hudson had headed over to Alfin Ridge to make sure that everyone in the settlement was safe, and Ben had started conspiring with _Atlantis_ ’ supply officer to make sure _seaQuest_ had enough food to feed everyone for the night they hadn’t intended to spend out at sea, so Nathan had felt it was time to actually do his job as the senior officer on the scene and report in.

Bill had not, needless to say, taken the news very well.  Ironically enough, he wasn’t angry at Nathan for taking the untried and previously secret ‘supersub’ into battle—unlike Captain Clayton, who had grown strangely silent in the wake of their success—he was more worried about the ramifications of Macronesia trying to take Alfin Ridge.

“I wasn’t aware there were tunnels leading from the colony straight into the naval station,” Nathan replied to what the Admiral had said, shaking his head.  “What makes you think that the Macronesians knew?”

“That’s because you were never stationed there,” Bill replied.  “They’re leftovers from the old NORPAC days, Nathan, and guess who was stationed at Johnston Atoll for her last shore duty before taking command of _seaQuest_?”

He groaned.  “This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

“You’re telling me!  I thought you killed her back at Westridge Farm.”

“I did put the fact that the Delta IV’s mini sub was gone in my report,” Nathan pointed out. 

“Nathan, that was almost six years ago.  You really expect me to remember what was in that report?”

He snorted.  “You don’t read my reports today.  I really didn’t expect you to read them then, either.”

They laughed together out of habit, but neither really felt any amusement.  Another moment passed before Noyce continued pensively: “So…now the Macronesians know that we’ve built a new _seaQuest_.  Do you think that will change anything?”

“The pacifist in me really wants to think so…but I doubt it, Bill.”  _I wish to hell I didn’t, but…_ “I think we have to assume that it won’t.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

After that, there was nothing left to say.  The admiral and the captain could only stare at one another in silence, two old warhorses who had hoped for a peaceful world and now saw their dreams falling down in ruins.  Some irrational part of Nathan had hoped that _seaQuest’s_ appearance would make common sense break out in the world—she had been enough to keep the peace before, so why not now?  But that day’s events had proven that irrational hope groundless…and now he knew, he _really_ knew, that they were going to war.

* * *

Lonnie picked at her sandwich, peeling the soggy bread apart.  There hadn’t been too many choices left by the time she had finally made it to dinner.  All four of the reverse osmosis units had stopped working sometime during the engagement with the Macronesians earlier, and it had fallen to her and her division to get them fixed.

_At least it didn’t give me time to think about what might have happened_ , she thought, wrinkling her nose as she took the turkey off the sandwich.  _Of course, it meant getting stuck with_ this _for dinner._ She sighed, resisting the urge to just put her head down on the table.

But she couldn’t help her nerves.  Lonnie had reported to _Torsk_ just a few weeks before the boat had been sunk, and that had been her first taste of combat.  While intellectually she knew that not every bit of underwater combat ended in the loss of a boat, she couldn’t help thinking about Max and Erica, her two roommates from _Torsk_.  They’d both been lost when the boat went down, one in a damage control party and the other when the engine room flooded.  She still thought about them all the time, and expected to see them just walking around.  Even though months had passed, Lonnie still hadn’t come to terms with their loss.

"Mind if I join you?" a voice asked, making her head snap up.  Somehow, Lonnie hadn't even noticed that Lieutenant Commander O'Neill had walked into the wardroom.

"No.  I mean, yes.  I mean, you're welcome to join me, sir," she stuttered.  _Way to go, Lonnie.  He probably thinks you're some kind of idiot._

She liked Commander O'Neill, for the most part.  He was always nice to her, and didn't seem to mind her usually bubbly personality.  Not like some of the officers on board _Torsk_ had.

“Thanks.  Hell of a day, huh?”  He picked up his own sandwich, and grimaced after taking the first bite. 

"It didn't seem to bother you all that much," she replied, wincing in sympathy.

O’Neill shrugged, speaking around his second bite of sandwich.  "I guess I was busy enough that it didn't.  Or that I'm used to it.  We had some pretty hairy times on the last boat."

"The last _seaQuest_ , you mean?"

"Yeah." The Ops officer snorted in amusement.  "I was greener than green on my first tour with her—back when she was still a NORPAC boat.  I was a bit better by the time the UEO got her, but it was still interesting.  You should have seen our _last_ set of sea trials.  Everything went wrong then, too."

"I can't really picture you being green.  Sure, you're not as outgoing as Lieutenant Commander Krieg, and you don't have nearly the same presence that Commander Hitchcock does, but you always seem so confident in yourself," she said.  "Sir," she added belatedly, realizing she had let her mouth run away with her again.

O’Neill only laughed.  “Then you don’t know me very well.  My nervous stutter will appear one of these days, and then we’ll see.”

"I don't believe that, sir.  You weren't nervous at all up there.  Not like me."

“Trust me, we _all_ get nervous.  Even smooth talkers like Ben Krieg.  You should have seen him when he ran into this giant bio-luminescent creature that crapped out these glowing rock-like things.  He was going around the boat telling everyone ‘have you ever been certain, I mean _really_ certain, that you were going to die’,” the older officer replied with a grin.  “It was completely awful.  He’s such a drama queen.”

Lonnie laughed, then sobered.  "But that's not...  I mean, he wasn't really going to die, right?"

“Well, he could have.  The thing _was_ bigger than _seaQuest_.  Its tentacles were like five hundred feet long, and they came in through the swim tubes.”  He grimaced slightly, but then waved a hand dismissively.  “But that’s not the point, really.  The point is that everyone gets scared…just sooner or later, you learn to manage it, I guess.”

"How did you learn to manage it?" she asked.

"Badly." His smile was lopsided.  "But back then, with our first CO—well, let's just say that Captain Stark wasn't exactly tolerant of people being nervous.  So, I learned to hide it, and then somewhere along the way, dealing with it just got easier.  I'm afraid I probably won't be much help."

"Oh." It took a moment for his whole statement to sink in, and she could feel her eyes widen.  "Captain Stark? You mean, the same Captain Stark who was just _firing_ at us?"

"Yeah.  She went crazy back at Livingston Trench and tried to launch nukes on a bunch of innocent settlers.  She was relieved of command by our old XO.  We all thought she died a few years back," Commander O’Neill replied, sounding ridiculously nonchalant.

Lonnie had heard the story of Livingston Trench, of course.  _Everyone_ had, and that incident had been one of the key reasons she had decided to enlist in the Navy.  She had just never put the pieces together.  "I guess she didn't, though."

"No kidding.  That woman was my worst nightmare as an ensign—I used to _literally_ have nightmares about her yelling at me."

"I sometimes have dreams about Captain Hudson yelling at me," she admitted, looking back down at her soggy sandwich.

"Well, you can bet that Captain Bridger isn't—" he cut off as the door opened, revealing Lieutenant Commander Krieg and Warrant Officer Ortiz.  They were in mid-conversation, and did not seem to notice the pair of officers already seated at the table.

“I told you, Miguel, no seconds,” Krieg was saying with a groan.  “I’m already scraping the bottom of someone _else’s_ barrel to come up with breakfast for tomorrow.  I just got off the horn with _Atlantis’_ supply officer, and she’s willing to send over some powdered eggs and processed protein things—I’m not even sure what she’s giving us.  It’s probably the crap no one on their crew wants to eat.”

“How’s that my fault? I’m a growing boy, Ben.  I need food,” Ortiz pleaded.  “Besides, if you’re getting supplies, what’s it matter if I eat a second sandwich?”

“Because I don’t believe I’m getting anything until it’s in the launch bay,” Krieg retorted, rolling his eyes.  “Do I look like an idiot?”

“Well, now that you’ve asked—”

“Hey! Wait a minute.”  Krieg finally seemed to realize that the wardroom wasn’t empty, and turned to face O’Neill and Henderson, demanding: “Are you two here for seconds?”

“Relax, Ben,” O’Neill laughed as Lonnie tried not to protest that they weren’t doing anything wrong—being defensive about everything was a habit she’d learned on _Torsk_ and still hadn’t shaken.  The older officer continued: “We’re catching some late chow, not sneaking in for seconds.”

“You’d better not be,” the supply officer warned them ominously.

"I don't even want firsts," Lonnie admitted, her voice coming out smaller than she intended it to.

"This is below even your usual standards, Ben," O'Neill agreed with her, his grin crooked but cheeky.  Immediately, Lonnie envied him the casual way he could deal with the other officers.  O’Neill might have claimed to possess a nervous stutter, but he seemed completely at ease now.

"See? No one wants to eat it, so no one will mind if I have seconds," Ortiz said.

"Take mine," she said, pushing the plate in Ortiz's direction.  "If you don't mind that I was picking at it, I mean."

"I'm not so hungry that I need to eat your food, Lonnie," the warrant officer said with a smile.  "I'm really just trying to rag on Ben.  His reactions make it too much fun to pass up any opportunity."

"Oh, great," Krieg put in dryly.  "Is this how I get thanked for my hard work? Everyone's a critic."

Despite her nervousness, Lonnie had to laugh.  There'd been no room for a sense of humor like Krieg's on _Torsk_ ; she was pretty sure that the supply officer would have driven Captain Hudson crazy.  But the atmosphere here on _seaQuest_ was so much more relaxed than it had been on her last boat, even though it had only been hours since they were in combat.

She'd been more than slightly terrified when she realized that she'd gotten orders to the fleet flagship, to the next iteration of the legendary _seaQuest_ , but so far, things had been better than she expected.  She just had to remind herself to keep focusing on the good things, the here and the now, instead of letting memories from _Torsk's_ last day haunt her.  This was her boat now, and these men were her crewmates, and they had survived their first battle together and no one had died.

_Not yet,_ a traitorous voice inside her head reminded her, but she swatted it aside, listening to her fellow officers’ banter.  _It doesn’t have to be that way,_ Lonnie told herself firmly.  _Not this time._

* * *

Jonathan wanted nothing more than to call _seaQuest_ back right away, but he had responsibilities he had to handle before he would have the chance for that luxury.  _Atlantis_ hadn’t taken any hits during the fight, but there were always things needing to be done.

_You’re not putting it off or anything, Jonathan,_ a small part of him piped up.  _After all, your supply officer really didn’t need you standing over her shoulder.  Even if she_ was _dealing with Ben Krieg._

_And that’s the crux of things, isn’t it? Everyone’s back on_ seaQuest _except for you._

He pushed that thought away as he shut the door to his cabin, finally having the time to put the call through to his former commanding officer.  Inevitably, the call was relayed by some communications officer whose voice he didn't recognize, but within a few moments, Bridger's face appeared on his screen.

Irrationally, the first thing he noticed was that the captain's quarters on the new _seaQuest_ didn't look at all like the old one's; these quarters were paneled in some sort of wood and looked much more like the plans he had seen for the long-destroyed second boat.

"I was wondering when you'd call, Jonathan," Bridger said with a slight smile.

He returned the smile.  "Captainy stuff.  I'm sure you understand."

"I think that I've done that once or twice, yeah."

"I'm not going to forgive you for stealing Miguel from me, you know," he said, still avoiding what he really wanted to talk about.

"I hope you don't expect an apology," Bridger replied with a chuckle.  A secretive glint entered his eye.  "Though I do promise that I'll make it up to you, sooner or later."

Jonathan _hated_ that look.  It always meant his former CO was up to something, and Jonathan was likely to find out at the least convenient time possible.  _He’s trying to make it sound like I’ve got something good coming, but with Bridger’s sense of humor, you never know._ "And I heard that Krieg is back on board."

"I grabbed as many old hands as I could, yeah.  I'd have stolen you back, too, if I hadn't been threatened with a firing squad for trying," his old CO replied.  "Katie was the next best choice, though I suspect she'll be calling you to get some 'Bridger-handling' tips.  I think I'm driving her mad."

"Oh? I can't imagine why," he replied dryly.

He got an innocent look in response.  "I wouldn't know anything about that."

"Of course not, sir.  Admiral Noyce was the one who gave _me_ the 'Bridger-handling' speech the first time."

"I bet he did," Bridger laughed.  "Did it help?"

"Not at all.  But I think I managed just fine."  Jonathan sobered, and finally forced himself to face the topic that he _knew_ shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable.  "So.  _seaQuest_."

"Yeah." He could hear the pride behind the casual reply, but at least Bridger’s expression was contrite.  "I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you before, Jonathan.  Security was...rather tight."

"Well, that explains the _Stingray_ fiasco that Katie was asking about a couple months ago.  And Miguel’s Project Anzio, I’m guessing." He sighed, wishing things could have been different.  "Any chance I can get a tour?"

"Of course you can.  We're homeported in Pearl—just give me a call when you get in, and I'll make sure security lets you through.  I warn you, though, she's not quite what you remember."

He couldn't help but grin.  "I could see that just from the fancy maneuvers you were pulling out there before.  How many torpedo tubes has she got this time?"

"Twenty-four, but the aft torpedo room decided to flood before we went into action, so we only had sixteen available.  Fifteen, actually, because one of the others has a problem with its hydraulic system." Bridger shrugged.  "But it's a shakedown cruise, so I'm happy that we had as many working as we did."

Twenty-four tubes was more than the nine that the old _seaQuest_ had, and three times the eight _Atlantis_ sported.  So far as Jonathan knew, that was more than _any_ warship mounted, and that fact alone told him a lot about the new _seaQuest_.  Irrational envy reared its ugly head again, but Jonathan shoved it down ruthlessly.  Yeah, he could be pissed off that he hadn’t know about _seaQuest_ , and that he wasn’t on her crew again—but he had his own boat, now, and _Atlantis_ was nothing to sneeze at.  He loved her, and truth be told, he wouldn’t have traded commanding her for anything—not even for a return to _seaQuest_ as Bridger’s XO.

Not most days, anyway.

"I'm just happy you were in the area.  I wasn't looking forward to Oliver's suicide mission," Jonathan replied honestly.  _Talk about arriving in the proverbial nick of time._

"I could tell from the way you were looking at him, yeah," was the understanding response.  "He's a hell of a talented officer, but sooner or later, someone's going to have to teach him that cavalry charges don't win every battle."

"Especially in submarine warfare, where there aren’t any horses to begin with" Jonathan added dryly.  "I _hate_ the fact that he thinks he can ignore any input I might have just because he's got about two months of seniority on me.  And that he takes every opportunity to rub that in my face."

There were very few people Jonathan would vent to like this, but it just felt natural with Nathan Bridger.  And at least the other captain would understand Jonathan’s frustration.  All things considered, Jonathan and Oliver had fairly similar records, and Jonathan probably could have been promoted sooner if he hadn’t been holding out to return to _seaQuest_ as her XO for a second tour.

"He's not the most subtle man, is he?" Bridger asked rhetorically.  "Anyway, I'm glad we were here, too.  Especially since we got the opportunity to put Marilyn back in her box."

Jonathan shivered despite himself, and could not stop the words from coming out in a snarl:   "I was _not_ expecting her.  Though in retrospect, I feel like I should have.  She's been toying with me for months now in that stealth sub of hers."

"That certainly sounds like her, yeah.  And you're not the only one who that should have occurred to—I know her better than you do.  You served under her, but I was the fool who _taught_ her.  If anyone should have guessed that she'd go work for the Macronesians, it should have been me."  Bridger sounded angry with himself, a feeling Jonathan completely understood.

"With all due respect, sir, I know how involved you can get in your work.  And I know how busy you must have been getting _seaQuest_ ready for trials.  I'm surprised you even knew about our little war with Macronesia," Jonathan teased.

Bridger snorted.  "While under normal circumstances you'd be right, this time I'm strangely well informed," he replied with a grimace.  "And stop calling me 'sir.' Last I checked, you were a captain, too.  That means you can be as much of a smart ass as you like, and you don’t even have to apologize for it."

"Yes, sir," Jonathan replied with a grin.

"See? You're figuring that one out already." his old captain laughed.

"Speaking of being informed, what happened to your shoulder?" Jonathan asked, eying the sling around Bridger’s left arm.

"Broken clavicle.  I got in a car accident." But there was something evasive in Bridger's voice—Jonathan hadn't been his XO for so long without knowing how to read him, and he knew when the captain was intentionally avoiding a subject.

"Must've been one hell of a car accident."

"Something like that, yeah."

He bit back a reply about Bridger continuing to keep secrets from him.  If the other captain didn't want to talk about whatever happened, it wasn't Jonathan's place to drag it out of him.  "I'm glad to hear it was nothing more serious," he said instead, hating the distance that had grown between them.  It was just another reminder of how much things had changed in the last few years.

"Actually, you probably do need to know," Bridger said with a sudden sigh, looking tired.  "Now that we know Stark is working with the Macronesians, it makes a lot more sense."

"What makes a lot more sense?" Now he wasn't so sure he wanted to know, not with the sinking feeling forming in his stomach.

“Now, I’m not sure she was involved in this at all, Jonathan—but if she’s out for revenge, you might find some Macronesian spec ops folks trying to nab you, too.  I’m not sure if they were trying to kill me or kidnap me, but they took out my driver and were well on their way to taking me out when the local police arrived.” Bridger gestured with the sling.  “That’s how I got this lovely thing.  My rescuer shot me, too, though not very seriously.”

Jonathan blinked hard, swallowing back his shock.  “Tell me that I just had a temporary bought of insanity and you didn’t just say that some Macronesians tried to kill or kidnap you.”

“I wish I could, Jonathan,” was the quiet response, and they both sat there in silence for a moment, with Jonathan trying to find some way to act normally after a bit of news like that.  _Does that mean we’re all targets now?_   Bridger wouldn’t have the answer to that, and only time would tell.  Finally, he managed to make light of the situation.

"Maybe you should leave out that last part about being shot by the police.  It sounds a little…pathetic," Jonathan said teasingly.  He really didn't want to consider the idea of someone trying to kidnap him, so he shoved it out of his mind.  "Anyway, good luck to them trying to get me where I am.  _Atlantis_ isn't due back in to port for longer than a few days for resupply any time in the near future.  Even our upcoming engineering overhaul is only supposed to take four days—although I’ll believe that they can replace two shafts _and_ all the associated gear that quickly when I see it."

Danger or no, though, Jonathan knew _Atlantis_ needed the engineering overhaul.  The _Scavenger_ -class boats like her were a funny design; although they were built with reactors that were enormously overpowered for the amount of torque her shafts could take, her top speed had been limited to around sixty-five knots…on a good day.  After the planned replacement of both shafts and screws her top speed would be _doubled_ , which would allow _Atlantis_ to keep up with the newer boats like Hudson’s _Scorpion._   Bridger, however, was responding:

"Being out to sea is probably a good thing.  If I'm not careful, Noyce is going to restrict me to the boat." 

Jonathan chuckled.  "I'm surprised you were off the boat to start with."

"I had to have breakfast with Admiral Smith.  Long story," Bridger replied.  "So, when are you due back in next? We're going to have to make a speed run back starting in a few hours, because I don't think we can steal enough food from you to stay out another day, and I've got a hundred or so civilian contractors on board who really don't appreciate this hands-on war business very much."

"We'll probably follow you in.  We weren't due in for another week, but I'm sure Krieg has swindled my Suppo out of everything he could," Jonathan grumbled.

"Probably," Bridger allowed with a smile.

"I'm going to have to retrain Lieutenant Brown after this.  She's young and impressionable, and I'm sure she's probably all starry eyed because of him.  I'm not going to forgive you for _that_ , either."

"Worse things could happen than her taking a few pointers from Ben Krieg, you know," the other captain shrugged.  "Trust me, in war time, sometimes you want the shadiest supply officer you can find."

Listening to Nathan Bridger talk so easily about war was almost as weird as the idea of Macronesia trying to kidnap naval officers in order to satisfy Marilyn Stark’s personal vendettas, but the day had been so full of surprises that he figured he ought to just roll with it.  _Did I wake up in the Twilight Zone, or what?_   Bridger was still waiting for an answer.

"Pointers, yes.  I'm just worried she'll borrow his entire strategy guide.  _You_ may be able to turn a blind eye to someone like Krieg, but I like my crew just how it is," he replied, glad he could keep his tone light.  He never did get over the little thrill of being able to call them _his_ crew, either.

"I bet you do." The smile, however, told him that Bridger understood exactly how he felt.  There was a moment of companionable silence before Jonathan sighed.

“I’ll be holding you to that offer to see the boat, Captain,” Jonathan said, trying to lighten his own mood again.  Nathan laughed again before they said their farewells.

 He allowed himself one more moment of jealousy after Bridger’s image faded before scolding himself.  _No use dwelling on regrets, Jonathan.  And you_ really _have to stop thinking of getting your own command as being a regret._ seaQuest _will always hold a special place in your heart, but_ Atlantis _is home, now._


	19. Good Lies and Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! We'd both like to apologize for the massive delay, but work has tried to kill us both lately, and we're finally (hopefully) coming out the other side. Stick around for Chapter 20: "Bad News and Worse," in which Hudson maneuvers, Bridger avoids a horrible fate, and a TV special is filmed on board _seaQuest_.

**31 January 2024**

Somehow or another, Captain Bridger had succeeded in convincing the brass that  _seaQuest's_ crew should get two days off—or maybe he just hadn't told them that he intended to cut everyone loose. After spending an extra day underway and finishing most of the testing by accident during the battle at Alfin Ridge, the remaining days of sea trials had been cancelled. The crew had spent the next week working with the shipyard to fix everything that hadn't worked right, a process that had, much to their surprise, gone rather smoothly. The boat still had more than her share of hiccups—and flushing the toilet nearest to the wardroom still caused the galley to flood—but  _seaQuest_ was beginning to shape up.

And anything that led to them getting two consecutive days off rather approached being a miracle, in Miguel's opinion. Especially since he  _didn't_ have duty on one of them, unlike poor Tim.

"They're  _still_ talking about it on the news?" he asked with a sigh, gesturing at the TV.

Tim sighed. "Apparently, there's nothing better to put on the news. But when you get down to it, at least it's good news for the UEO. We  _won_. For once."

"The UEO won, you mean," Katie said, throwing their operations officer a pointed look.

"Isn't that what I said?"

Only Tim could look so innocent without even trying. Of course, none of them could mention that  _seaQuest_  had won the 'incident' at Alfin Ridge. That fact, along with the boat's existence, was still classified.  _I'm not sure who the brass thinks they're fooling right now, but I'm just a lowly warrant officer. What do I know about security?_ Miguel thought to himself, shrugging. "I suppose."

The bar the three of them had chosen was almost empty—but they'd come in at two in the afternoon, beating the evening rush. The food was good even if the place was a dive, and at least the bartender didn't care when Miguel grabbed the remote to change the channel to something more interesting than EarthCast News.

Unfortunately, day time television had never been known for being high quality, so he finally gave up in disgust on the channel surfing, leaving it on some animal show. He shoved the remote towards the middle of the table. "At least we don't have people hounding after us every second," he said, trying to find some sort of positive.

"That'll last about five seconds once word gets around," Tim replied, scowling.

" _If_  word gets around," Katie countered. "I doubt the brass is really planning on letting the cat out of the bag at this point."

"Oh, because  _no one_  else knows." Tim rolled his eyes. "Of course people will find out. They always do."

"They'll try, though," Miguel said. "But until then, I'm going to sit here and enjoy my beer and watch some... whatever this is we're watching," he added, gesturing towards the screen where some crazy naturalist was in a tree with a set of night vision goggles.

"Can't you at least find something with marine mammals?" Tim complained. "Then we might at least learn something useful. Mr. Smartypants here guy is going to fall out of that tree and be eaten by lions any minute now."

Miguel grinned. "That's what I'm hoping for."

"Oh. Well, when you put it that way, don't change the channel. I'm betting on the lions—they look hungry."

Katie rolled her eyes. "Will you boys ever grow up?"

"No, ma'am," he replied promptly. "Besides, think of all the fun you'd be missing out on if we were acting all mature and responsible."

"And  _you_  were the one who married Ben Krieg," Tim pointed out reasonably. "Compared to him, we're senior citizens."

She glared. "That was a low blow. Do I need to mention your crush on—"

"No! Not at all," Tim cut her off hurriedly. "That doesn't need mentioning. Not at all. Never again."

Miguel was intrigued. "You can't just tease a guy like that and then not let me in on the juicy gossip," he told the commander. "Who does Little Timmy have a crush on?"

"Had.  _Had_  is the operative word. This was years ago, and our wonderful XO here wouldn't even know about it if Commander—I mean, Captain—Ford hadn't told  _her_  about it. It was back when NORPAC still owned  _seaQuest_. And it was only for a little while. Like, a week." Only Tim O'Neill could get that many words out in three seconds—Miguel was half surprised that he understood a word of it. But yes...Tim's ears  _were_  decidedly pink.

Miguel wracked his brain, trying to remember all the female officers the first  _seaQuest_  had, and kept coming back to one. "Tim...please tell me you didn't have a crush on Captain Stark."

"No!" Tim's eyes bulged. "God,  _no!_  That woman terrified me."

He heaved a dramatic sigh of relief. "Anyone but her, I can probably understand and forgive. So who was it?"

"She wasn't even on  _seaQuest_. She was the Commo on  _Bruno_. They used to be berthed near us." Tim was definitely red now.

"And she dumped him—though I'll give Tim this, she  _did_  go out with him once—for some burly surfer," Katie finished the story, making Tim slouch in his chair miserably.

Miguel snorted. "You should look her up and see what she's doing now and console yourself with the fact that you're here with us. And who  _wouldn't_  want to be here with us?"

Tim snorted. "Anyone sane."

"Fortunately, that's not a problem any of us are burdened with," Katie laughed, finishing her beer and gesturing for another one. She sighed, but her expression was content. "Wow. It's good to have a day off."

"I'll drink to that," Miguel said, drinking down the last of his own beer.

Tim, as usual, was still nursing his first drink, and did not follow suit. However, Miguel almost spit out that last gulp when he caught sight of the nature freak nearly getting mauled by a hippopotamus while trying to cross a stream using his night vision goggles. "Look at this idiot," he said to the others, laughing.

"Wow. That's bad, even for these shows," Tim agreed.

"Everyone knows you can only see surface temperatures of water with IR goggles like that," Miguel scorned.

"Not everybody. I didn't know that," Tim said with a shrug. "Why wouldn't they be able to get a heat signature through the water? Isn't that how those things are supposed to work?"

"Nah, the infrared radiation usually can't pass through the water's absorption spectrum," Miguel replied.

"Why not?" Tim asked, sounding only partially interested.

"Well, everything that's got any sort of temperature, even if it's just a few degrees above absolute zero, gives off infrared radiation. The hotter it is, the more radiation you get. The radiation is at a wavelength that corresponds with where water can absorb it," he explained. "Depending on the temperature, it might be able to get through—like using IR to see through fog. But underwater, it's damn near useless."

"Not necessarily," the XO argued. "You said it yourself, it all depends on the absorption spectrum of the water and the wavelength of the infrared radiation."

"With all due respect, Commander, I know a thing or two about this. They wanted to use infrared to link the WSKRs to the boat," Miguel said.

Katie got that little displeased frown on her face that he knew all too well from their first tour.  _Good job, Ortiz, now you've pissed her off._ "With all due respect, Mr. Ortiz, I  _know a thing or two_  about this too. My senior project at the Academy was on blackbody radiation."

"Hey...uh, guys," Tim interjected quietly. "Play nicely. We're at a bar. Not at work. You can stop poking one another with formal titles."

Miguel waved a hand at Tim, barely hearing what he had to say. "Look, you'd need to have something being ridiculously hot to ensure the wavelength coming off it would not correspond with an absorbance peak."

"Or ridiculously hot in comparison to its surroundings. If you calibrated an IR sensor to the right wavelengths, you'd be able to see just fine under water," Katie countered.

"If they could do that, why are we still using sonar?" Miguel challenged.

"Because no one wants to spend the time or the money to develop something new when we've already got something that works. Most of the time," Katie replied.

"Hey!" Miguel protested. "My WSKRs work ninety-nine percent of the time!"

"More like eighty," Tim interjected.

Miguel shot him a dark look. "I thought you were on my side."

"Why do I have to be on a side?" Tim asked, looking mystified. "You guys are speaking a language I don't understand. Anyone want some nachos?"

"Well at least we finally found  _one_  language you don't understand," Miguel groused. "But look, sonar works  _ninety-nine_ percent of the time. And you said it yourself, Commander. No one feels the need to develop something new."

Glancing between the two argumentative faces, Tim stood up, clearly deciding that this wasn't a fight he wanted to be in the middle of. "I'll just go get those nachos..." Tim trailed off, and headed over to the other end of the bar to talk to the bartender.

"Not even for that one percent of the time? Like when you can't seem to get a sonar fix on those Macronesian subs?" Katie suggested, a gleam in her eyes.

Miguel opened his mouth to reply before snapping it back shut again. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"You know how the captain feels about research and development," she said, starting to smirk.

"We don't even know if it's possible," Miguel objected, trying to play the devil's advocate, even as he started thinking through equations in his head.

"At least we can  _try_. And in the meantime, you can have one of your subordinates spend all their time listening to those sonar tapes. Fresh ears, and all that," Katie wheedled.

_Ah, hell. At least it'll be an interesting project!_ Still, he couldn't resist grinning before he asked: "Should we tell the captain before we get it figured out, or after?"

* * *

"There's a Captain Ford here for you, sir," the guard at the shipyard's entry control point said over the comm.

Smiling, Nathan put down the report he'd been reading. Giving Jonathan a tour was  _definitely_ more fun than reading another construction report, especially since he'd been at this one for almost an hour. Not that it wasn't important, but…almost all of his attention was focused on  _seaQuest's_ preparations for commissioning, and it was hard to pay attention to something else. "I'm on my way."

The walk from his cabin on the boat to the ECP was a relatively short one; he'd left Jonathan's name with the guards at the first security checkpoint, though it was impossible to get through the second one without a shipyard badge. Soon enough,  _seaQuest_ would return to the original boat's underwater berth, but until then, they were sheltered in the shed at Building Slip 4A, which continued to keep visitors off of the boat. On one hand, Nathan was grateful for the quiet, but on the other…well, it did make bringing people on board difficult, even if he wanted them there.

Of course, heading down to meet Jonathan meant he had to endure the salutes of every MP at the ECP, but that was life. Nathan had intentionally tried to ignore certain bits and pieces of military discipline when he was busy playing scientist, but these days, that simply wasn't an option. At least Jonathan wasn't going to salute him now that they were both captains, though he could see the other man's smile and just  _knew_ he was contemplating it.

"It's good to see you, Jonathan," he greeted his old XO, shaking hands with him. "How was your trip into Pearl?"

"Uneventful—just the way I like it," he replied. "Yours?"

"Much the same, thankfully, though I do think that your Suppo's generous contributions averted a mutiny," he grinned. "I had some  _extremely_  grouchy contractors on board by the time we got in."

"Glad we could help."

"Shall we?" he gestured Jonathan towards the ugly concrete building.

His grin was huge. "Of course."

They walked down the pier together, past the three different pallet trucks and various pieces of equipment owned by the several dozen contractors still working on board. Most of them ignored the two captains, though Ben did pause in the argument he was having with two shore side supply lieutenants in order to salute both of them. Guiltily, both lieutenants did the same a moment later, and Bridger had a feeling that Ben planned to use that against them momentarily.

_Better to stay out of that one,_  he thought to himself.  _There are some questions I know better than to ask Ben Krieg._

He snorted to himself.  _Learned that one the hard way, I did._

"I see he's up to his usual tricks," Jonathan commented, sounding amused.

"Yeah, he is. Then again, I really did expect that when I sprung him out of the brig," Nathan replied with a smile.

That got him a confused look, and then Ford shook his head. "You know, I don't even want to know. He's not my problem anymore, and for that I can only be thankful."

Bridger chuckled. "Why do you think I asked for Katie as my XO? I knew she could handle him—and more importantly, she  _enjoys_  making him miserable sometimes. Much more than you ever did."

"No, no, I enjoyed making Ben plenty miserable. I just didn't like when he made  _me_  miserable," Jonathan corrected him.

They exchanged grins again, and then Nathan changed the subject, gesturing ahead. "As you can see, we're still holed up inside the floating dry dock," he told Jonathan. "We'll be moving her pierside for Commissioning on the twenty-fifth, but until then, we'll keep her hidden as much as we can."

"Seems reasonable enough."

He tried not to frown. "Most of the time, yeah."

"Enjoy it while you can, right?" Jonathan asked with another grin, knowing Nathan well enough to know how the security restrictions grated on him. It wasn't that Nathan didn't understand the need for them; he just was sick to death of having to  _deal_ with them.

The drydock inside the building slip was still flooded, which meant they had to head in via the brow, which was technically a tube that ran from the outside of the drydock through the hydrosphere, and from there joined up to one of the launch connections in lieu of a vehicle. The messenger of the watch was stationed at the bottom of the ladder leading upwards into the launch bay, and as soon as the two of them came into sight, Nathan spotted him lifting his radio.

A moment later, the traditional call rang out, one that could still send shivers down Nathan's spine.

_Ding ding, ding ding._ " _seaQuest_ , arriving," the OOD's voice announced over the 1MC.

Any captain in the Navy was "bonged aboard" under the name of his or her ship, and Nathan could still remember the very first time he'd heard himself referred to as such, way back on USS  _Seawolf_. But now, with  _seaQuest_ …the feeling was something else entirely. Every time he stepped onboard his boat, she still took his breath away.

He headed up the ladder, and the moment his foot landed on the deck, the final stroke of the bell came— _ding._ That was the "stinger", which only the embarked commander of a ship received on his own vessel. A moment later, as Jonathan's head appeared, the second announcement came:

_Ding ding, ding ding._ " _Atlantis_ , arriving."

"I never get tired of that," Jonathan said softly, echoing Nathan's own thoughts.

"Me neither, even if I'm supposed to be old enough to know better."

"Welcome back, Captain," Lonnie Henderson greeted him. She was the OOD at the moment, and saluted them both with a precision that Oliver Hudson must have adored.

"Thank you, Ms. Henderson," he replied, returning the gesture much more casually. Then he turned to Jonathan. "Well, where do you want to start?"

"Might as well start at the bridge." The other captain tried to sound nonchalant, but his eyes were filled with anticipation.

Nathan nodded, and they headed that way. He kept his mouth shut, allowing his former second-in-command to look around and get his bearings—this boat was much like the first two  _seaQuests_  in appearance, although the differences were easily apparent to someone who had known both as well as Jonathan had. Several minutes of walking later, however, the inevitable question came:

"MagLev broken?"

"What MagLev?" he replied with a grin.

"You got rid of the MagLev? What, people getting too fat and lazy?" Jonathan asked, teasing.

Nathan laughed. "Not quite, though that  _did_  occur to me. She's only a thousand feet long, after all—well, one thousand and fifty-seven—and it's not that hard to get around." He gestured at one of the access hatches that corresponded to one of the old MagLev stops. "The real answer is that I couldn't figure out how to shoehorn both a MagLev and the new Torpedo Handling System into this great big hull, and I wasn't going to make her any fatter just to add an item of convenience."

"How much space does your THS take up?" Jonathan asked, giving him a funny look. Of course, most boats had a very simple handling system that just transferred torpedoes from the weapons room to the tubes, so the other captain had a right to be mystified. Even the first  _seaQuest_  had only possessed one torpedo room and one set of tubes—though in Nathan's original design, she  _had_ had two, right up until the second one had been converted into science labs.

"A lot." He tried not to roll his eyes; the damn thing had been his idea, and it  _was_  necessary. Nathan really just didn't like the way the contracting team had implemented the THS, but there was nothing they could do about that now. "We've got three separate torpedo rooms on this big lady, and getting the torps from one to another can be a real bitch."

" _Three_?" Jonathan asked. Then he chuckled. "You never did do anything in half measures."

Nathan shrugged. "When you design a boat to take hits, you have to assume you'll get smacked a time or two. Sooner or later, someone gets lucky and takes out your torpedo tubes, and then what? With a boat this big, I could afford to put eight tubes forward, midships, and aft. Losing the MagLev is rather minor in comparison to losing the ability to shoot back, after all."

"I'll grant you that much. Still, I'm glad I don't have to worry about running up and down the length of your boat. I'll stick with  _Atlantis_  and my nice, short walk from my cabin to the bridge," the junior captain said.

_Not for long, you won't,_  Nathan thought to himself, but resisted the urge to say anything tantalizing. He'd save that for later.

"Speaking of which, here we are," he said with a chuckle, leading the way though the clamshell doors.

They stopped not far behind the captain's chair, and Nathan let Jonathan look around, absorbing everything. For his part, he let his eyes conduct a quick once-over of the space; it was one of the few compartments that were completely finished, and it was off limits to contractors now that everything had been installed. Most of the consoles were off-line, except for those currently used to monitor the few systems running on the boat, but since _seaQuest_ was on what the Navy called shore power and was not creating her own electricity, almost nothing was running.

_She's ready,_ Bridger told himself with just a touch of pride.  _She may not be pretty in some places, but she's ready to roll._

_And heaven help Macronesia the next time they tangle with us._

"You stuck with the newer bridge design, I see," Jonathan commented.

"Yeah. The first one had a lot of wasted space, though it was designed that way to allow us to put upgrades in when needed, but we really can't afford that, nowadays. You've probably noticed the lack of windows, though—this bridge is a lot closer to the centerline than the one in the second design."

"I never did really understand that window you had planned for the second boat, but I always chalked it up to a scientist thing," was the teasing response.

"It  _is_  a scientist thing. We always want to see everything. For a research vessel, it's even a good idea. But not for a warship."

Jonathan went and stood behind the XO's workstation, left and forward from the captain's chair. "Katie must love this."

"Katie loves everything mechanical. You know that." Nathan grinned again and gestured towards engineering. "Although my Chief Engineer has threatened to cut her fingers off a few times," he joked.

He chuckled. "I bet."

"Fortunately, Brad's a crusty old limited duty officer, so he's dealt with worse. And he's a brilliant engineer, so they do get along well."

"Still, you're both braver men than I am, to tell Katie Hitchcock she can't play in engineering anymore."

Nathan laughed again. He'd forgotten how much he missed Jonathan's sense of humor, or the easy rapport they'd developed over the first tour. Katie was an excellent XO, but the two of them still had a ways to go before they approached the relationship he'd shared with Jonathan, who had been by far the best XO Nathan had ever had, despite some stiff competition. He and Katie would get there, of course, but at the moment, he half wished he could have just yanked Jonathan out of  _Atlantis_  and stolen him back.

But the Navy didn't work that way, and soon enough, there'd be a different boat waiting for Jonathan, which meant Nathan really couldn't claim him now.

"C'mon," he said, leading Jonathan through the rest of the boat for a tour that took a little over two hours. While they did so, a pile of paperwork was piling up on his desk, but Bridger knew it could wait. When he did head back to his cabin, it was with Jonathan in tow, and he only moved the pile to a nearby shelf. With the crew on holiday, it was all routine paperwork, anyway, and the Command Duty Officer would have called him if anything crucial came up.

"I've got something to show you," he told his old XO with a smile.

"Oh?" Jonathan asked.

Nathan called up his computer, hitting a few keys and inputting several passwords, hating security all the while. Speaking as the system recognized his identity and started calling up files and trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, he asked: "So, when are you due to rotate off  _Atlantis_?"

"Beginning of the fall," Jonathan replied. "Why? Want me to take over here?"

He could tell from the tone that Ford was teasing him, although Nathan couldn't miss the undercut of hope in his voice, either.  _Let's see what I can't do about that._  He hit the final key, transferring the plans he'd called up onto the big screen on his cabin's wall. Immediately, the design for another submarine popped up, one that resembled _seaQuest_  a great deal, despite being 250 feet shorter and somewhat sleeker looking.

Nathan didn't bother to answer the question; he just let Jonathan look at the design for several long moments.

"That's not  _seaQuest_ ," Jonathan said softly, moving to look more closely at the plans.

"No, she isn't. She's not done yet, though she's due to commission next December." Bridger had a hard time restraining his own smile, watching Jonathan's eyes devour the smaller sub's lines.

"And you're showing her to me...why? I mean, not that I'm complaining or anything, but I also don't want to be jumping to any conclusions," Jonathan said, clearly forcing himself to be cautious.

"Her name will be  _seaStrike_ ," Nathan replied obliquely. "Building a boat like  _seaQuest_  takes a long time, when you start worrying about combat redundancies and taking out the scientific spaces, but we'll be able to punch out one of these babies in less than a year. The lead boat is taking a bit longer, due to R&D, but not much. She was only laid down a few months ago."

Jonathan just stared at him, and he finally took pity on the younger man.

"Strangely enough, when they asked me for a recommendation on who should command  _seaStrike_ , your name came up. I can't imagine why."

"Neither can I," Jonathan said dryly. He only managed to last another moment before a grin split his face again. "And what did  _they_  say to that?"

"You won't see official orders until August or September at the earliest, and they're likely to say something like Project 'Stingray' or 'Anzio' or whatever creative thing the security types think of next," he answered. "But she's yours, if you want her."

"I think I'll pass and wait for the second one," was the immediate response, with the dry tone back again in typical Jonathan fashion.

He couldn't resist the laugh. "That's what I figured." But then he couldn't resist poking a bit: "Should I tell them to give her to Hudson, then?"

Jonathan blanched. "No. Anyone but him."

"Clancy, maybe?"

"I haven't had the...ah...pleasure, of working with her directly yet. Surely she can't be worse than Oliver, though," Jonathan replied.

"Oh, yes she can," Nathan replied, trying not to scowl. He disliked speaking ill of fellow captains, but Marissa Clancy was a real piece of work. Sometimes she reminded him of Marilyn Stark, only without the utter brilliance. "She's worse."

Jonathan frowned. "I'll take your word on that one."

"No matter. A boat like this isn't meant for someone who will get her shot up on the first go-round, anyway, and you'd  _better_  take good care of her," he warned, trying to sound ominous. The effort failed, but Jonathan got the idea.

"I think I can manage that," the other man promised.

"You'd better. The shipyard is affectionately calling her  _seaQuest's_  little sister, and it'd be nice to have you out there with us when I start to do  _really_  stupid things."

"You, do stupid things, sir?  _Never_. They must have you confused with someone else."

Bridger only laughed. "So, do you want to see her, or not? She's in the slip next door."

Jonathan's eyes lit up. "Can we?"

"Come on. I'll introduce you to her Project Manager, Captain Noel. I designed the boat, but Noel has brought her along from keel laying, and she's a good sort. You'll like her," Nathan answered, standing up.

Before he left, however, Bridger was careful to exit out of the design program and lock it back down. He didn't really expect some random hacker to make it past Lucas' security and start poking around on  _seaQuest_ , but _seaStrike_  was even more of a secret than her older sister was…at this point, anyway.

"I don't suppose I can get a copy of those plans too, can I?"

The answer to that  _should_  have been no, but Nathan had never been really good at playing by  _every_  rule. "How good is the security on your network?" he asked. "Do you have a hole no one on board can get into but you?"

Jonathan looked disappointed. "I guess that's a no, then."

Fortunately, Nathan had an answer for that one—because it would benefit the UEO in the long run if Jonathan had a good chance to get to know his future command. "I'll send Lucas over and have him set something up for you."

"Lucas?"

"Yeah, Lucas. You know, obnoxious kid, computer geek. That Lucas."

"He helping with your workups?" Jonathan asked.

"That's one way to put it. He's my EWO." Nathan looked at his old XO with a bit of surprise. "No one told you he joined the Navy?"

"He  _what_? You're joking, right?"

He snorted. "No, though that was my reaction when he showed up on my doorstep and told me a few months back."

Jonathan looked like he didn't quite believe him. "Okay then..."

"I'll send him over. It'll be a few days, though. He's not on duty, and I gave the crew a few days off to unwind. We've got Commissioning in twenty-six days, so it's probably the last chance they're going to get until then," he explained. "Now, how about going to see your next command?"

* * *

**1 February 2024**

"Look, Officer…" Tony squinted at the man's name plate. "Wantababe." He snorted a little.  _That's a heck of a name. Glad it ain't mine._

_Then again, it could be a load of fun._

"Watanabe," the police officer snapped.  _Whoops._

"Watanabe. Right,  _sorry_. I'm dyslexic, you know, can't always read right," Tony said.

"You're  _drunk_ , sailor," Watanabe said, twisting Tony's arms around behind his back.

"Hey, hey, watch it there, pal! I ain't that drunk you can get away with police brutality," Tony complained. "I apologized for the name thing. You can't just go around beatin' a guy up just 'cause he's got a disability, you know. I got rights, too."

"You're absolutely correct. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," Watanabe told him. Tony instinctively tried to jerk away from the police officer's grip on his arms.

"Now wait a minute! You can't just arrest me! I ain't done nothin' wrong! I ain't goin' back to jail on no trumped up charges, either!" Tony protested, feeling himself sober up almost instantly.

"Back to jail?" Watanabe asked, zeroing right in on what Tony had said.  _Way to go, Piccolo, lettin' your mouth run away from you again._

"Look, officer, no one's pressin' any charges against me, you can't just arrest me!" he said, trying to change the subject. "I was just sittin' there tryin' to have a drink, and this guy comes up to me and tries to start somethin'. I couldn't just sit there an' let him beat me up, could I? If anything, I should be the one pressin' charges!"

"You keep this up, and I'll add resisting arrest to your charges of drunk and disorderly," Watanabe threatened.

_Oh shit. You've gone an' done it this time._

Tony stopped his desperate attempts to get out of the cuffs, knowing it would only make things worse if he didn't.  _I might be dumb as a brick, but I ain't stupid enough to keep diggin' in this hole._

"That's better," the police officer said, finishing rattling off Tony's Miranda rights to him as he led him out of the bar towards the waiting cruiser.

"I gotta make a phone call," Tony said as he was ducked into the back seat.

"You'll get your phone call back at the station," Watanabe's partner said from the passenger seat.

Tony twisted in the back seat, trying to find a comfortable position with his arms behind his back, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the couple of beers he'd had to drink.

_Chief Shan is gonna kill me for sure, this time._

* * *

_Knock. Knock._

"Yeah?"

Typically, Bridger didn't even look up until Crocker spoke, his nose buried in some book or another and his reading glasses slipping down his nose. The captain loved to pretend that he was a harmless scientist, and though he got to play that role less often these days, Crocker still caught him at it from time to time.

"You got a moment, Cap?" he asked, stepping through the open hatch.

Bridger looked up. "Of course I do, Chief. Come on in, and have a seat."

Closing the door behind himself, Crocker moved to the seat across from his CO. He  _was_ technically a Master Chief, but to most of the original  _seaQuest's_ crew, he'd always just be Chief. Heck, he had been a Senior Chief for most of his tour on the old boat, and he'd never minded them just calling him "Chief" then, either. Besides, he and Bridger went even further back, and as far as Crocker was concerned, the captain could call him whatever he damn well pleased. He sat down, smiling despite the situation.

"We've got a problem, sir," he said, going straight to the point.

"Only one?"

Crocker snorted, appreciating the reference to their first tour together and the half-dozen 'problem-children' they'd had to deal with. "Chief Shan got a call from the Honolulu P.D. Apparently, Seaman Piccolo was arrested for drunk and disorderly last night."

"Great." Bridger's smile vanished.

"He and some civilian got in a bar fight, and it went downhill from there," Crocker continued.

"How bad were the damages?"

Bridger's tone was reasonable, even calm, but Crocker had worked with the captain long enough to know that young Piccolo would soon regret his drunken escapades.  _I suppose that even on a handpicked crew, you're gonna get some bad apples_ , the Master Chief thought to himself.  _At least he's young. A good metaphorical walloping from the Old Man at Captain's Mast will probably set him straight, and if not, it'll serve as a warning to the rest of the would-be troublemakers._ He cleared his throat.

"Dunno." Crocker shrugged. "That's not the problem, Cap. The bar was owned by some uncle of Piccolo's or somethin', so no one is pressing charges. Problem is, the police are refusing to turn him over to the Navy."

"What?" The surprise in the captain's voice was understandable; usually, local police were more than ready to turn miscreant sailors back over to their commands, knowing that the Navy would deal with the wrongdoer in their own creative way. That maxim only held true for minor crimes, of course, but the Honolulu P.D. had a long and comfortable understanding with the U.S. Navy for just that reason.

"They wouldn't say why, either," the COB continued as storm clouds gathered in Bridger's expression. "But the duty sergeant told Chief Shan not even to bother coming down to the station."

"You have any theories?" The reading glasses were off by now; the casual scientist had been replaced by the ticked off captain.

"Honestly? From what Chief Shan said, I think they're a mite offended that a 'mere' chief contacted them, Cap. I was thinking about asking one of the junior officers to come down with me and see if talking to an officer doesn't put them in a more reasonable frame of mind," he answered.

Bridger snorted. "If they're not impressed by a chief, they sure as hell won't be impressed by a junior officer. And I'm really not inclined to mess around with these people any longer than we have to."

"I'm open to ideas, Captain."

But he knew what the answer would be before Bridger spoke; in some ways, the captain was terribly predictable.

"Let me throw my khakis on, and we'll head over."

* * *

Ken grimaced, trying to type his report and ignore the kid's griping from the holding cell.  _That one's got a real smart mouth,_  he thought.  _Maybe this will teach him to learn to shut up._ Judging by the kid's record though, that wasn't likely to happen.

"The sergeant just said someone's coming to get him," his partner John said, slumping down into his chair at the desk next to Ken's.

"You know, I've lived here my entire life. Always worked pretty closely with the Navy," Ken said, leaning back in his own chair.

"You got a point, Ken, or are you just waxing poetic about glory days again? How many times have I got to tell you that  _Magnum_  was just a TV show?" John teased. Ken rolled his eyes.

"My  _point_ , DeSoto, is that I've never had more trouble with the Navy my entire time on the force than I have these last few months. First there was that whole Bridger fiasco, and now this kid," Ken said, gesturing down towards where the sailor was complaining about something or other.

"So? You're really the one making this harder on yourself, y'know. You could have just left him at that bar last night," John said.

"You ever heard of a submarine called  _Stingray_?" Ken asked.

"Should I have?" John asked in return.

"That's where this kid claims he's stationed. I don't know about you, but me? I pay attention to who's stationed here at Pearl. It's a good thing to know. And I've never heard of any boat by that name."

"So, what, you think he's lying or something? The sergeant spoke to one of his chiefs," John said.

"I know, I know. I'm not sure if he's lying or not. But I'd rather not just hand him over to some chief if I'm not sure," Ken replied.

"How about some captain, then, Officer Watanabe?" a familiar voice asked from behind him.

Ken spun around. "Captain Bridger," he said coolly. "What are  _you_  doing here?"

"I've come to pick up one of my sailors. I understand you have a Seaman Piccolo in custody," the captain replied.

Ken felt a headache forming. "One of yours? I thought you were head of some weapons research group. He says he's stationed on a boat called  _Stingray._ "

"Yeah. That's my boat." Bridger looked a bit exasperated.

"Never heard of a boat called  _Stingray_."

The captain smiled. "That's the idea."

The burly master chief with Bridger finally spoke up. "Look, Officer, is there some problem here we can resolve for you? Does it really matter if you haven't heard of the boat before?"

"And you are?" Ken asked him.

"Master Chief Crocker." At least he was polite enough to hold out a hand before adding: "I'm the Chief of the Boat for... _Stingray_."

Ken arched an eyebrow. "I see. And this seaman of yours required a captain and a master chief to escort him back to...  _Stingray_?"

The two exchanged a glance, but it was Bridger that answered. "Officer Watanabe, you know why we're here. One of my chiefs already called down about getting Mr. Piccolo released into Navy custody and was told not to bother coming down," he said. "Now, I'm not the most patient man in the world, so I figured that it'd be best to cut through the red tape and talk to you myself."

Ken would have liked nothing more than to argue with this man and keep the seaman locked up, but protocol was protocol. He rose from his chair, shooting a glare at his partner who was obviously trying to hide his amusement.

He led them back towards the cells. "I don't know what you stand to gain by lying for this kid, and frankly, I'll be glad to get rid of him. But next time you come around my station, you'd better have one hell of a better lie prepared, or just skip the crap and tell me the truth."

"Personally, Officer Watanabe, I'd just as soon never have to be here again," Bridger replied frankly. "And as for the truth...well, you're smart enough to know that if we're lying to you, that's because it's classified."

"You know, Captain, you might just find me a reasonable individual if you just came out and said that from the start, instead of treating me like an idiot and trying to lie," Ken said as he opened the cell door.

"I just might, assuming I was smart enough to do that in the first place," the captain replied with a slight smile. Then he gestured at Piccolo. "He been running his mouth at you, Officer?"

The kid looked absolutely petrified.  _Maybe he's learned his lesson. I suppose I could give him a break._ "Not a peep."

Crocker snorted. "Yeah, right. C'mon, you. You're in a world of trouble already, so don't make it worse by dawdling."

The kid looked like he was going to open his mouth and say something, but snapped it shut again, apparently smart enough to know better.

"I'll need you to sign some paperwork before you leave," Ken told the captain as the master chief led the young man out of the station.

"Lead the way," Bridger replied.

 


	20. Bad News and Worse

3 February 2024 

“Sir, I just took a call from Admiral Noyce,” Katie told him as he walked into the wardroom, still trying to wipe grease off of his hands.  Cheng had called him down to look at the Torpedo Handling System again; Williams and Brody had some concerns about the lubrication system attached to it, and Nathan had to agree with their assessment despite having come up with the idea for the system.  Unfortunately, there was little the crew could do about it at this late date, aside from stocking up on spare parts.  The system _worked_ , but the rails overheated far too easily, and none of them were certain if it would stand up to the rapid reloading inherent in combat conditions.

“You weren’t answering your PAL,” his XO continued accusingly.

“Sorry.  I was distracted.”  He felt an embarrassed smile cross his face.  “What’d he want?”

“Oh, only to tell you that you’re expected in the Secretary General’s office in an hour.”

Bridger blinked.  “Come again?”

“You’re wanted in the Secretary General’s office in an hour,” Katie repeated innocently.  “Fifty-five minutes, now.”

“Very funny.  I can’t get to New Cape Quest in an hour,” he snorted.  “What did he _actually_ want?”

She gave him the type of fed up and mothering look only an XO could bestow upon her wayward captain.  “You do realize that Secretary General McGath is here in Pearl Harbor, don’t you?  He arrived last night—it was all over the news this morning.  Something about ‘continuing to assure people that the UEO’s borders are secure’.”

_Oops._ He’d heard something about the trip, but had forgotten already.  _I suppose Katie isn’t just trying to make me miserable._ Nathan sighed, forgetting the idea of eating lunch.  “Did he say _why?_ ”

“He just said to wear your dress uniform.”  Damn her, she was enjoying this—but Nathan supposed that Katie had to get her kicks somehow, and if she was teasing him, that meant she really was comfortable in her new role.

“You’re really just making my day today, aren’t you?”

She just smiled.  “Your driver is waiting for you, sir.”

* * *

 

Forty-five minutes later, Nathan strode into the office Bill Noyce had appropriated over in the base headquarters building, still scowling.  His new driver—and the security man who rode with them—had managed to have a minor spasm about this “unplanned” departure from the security of the shipyard, and he’d spent most of the drive arguing with them both.  As such, he was more than a little annoyed.  “Was this party your idea, Bill?”

“You wouldn’t be wearing your favorite outfit if it was,” Bill replied, looking somewhat drained.  “I think McGath wants to give you a medal.”

“For what?”

“For your actions out at Alfin Ridge, of course.  What else?”

Nathan groaned.  “Can’t you tell him to put it in the mail?  I’ve got about a thousand and five things I could be doing right now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  He’s the Secretary General,” his friend replied pointedly.

“He’s not planning something public, is he? Tell me that’s not why I’m in this monkey suit.”

“Relax.  It’s just a simple, private meeting,” Bill soothed him.  “Sit down, will you?  You’re giving me a crick in the neck from all your pacing.”

“Aren’t we due in there soon?” But Nathan sat down, expecting the response before it came.

“He’s the Secretary General.  Everything is a bit behind schedule today.”  Bill shrugged.  “As usual.”

“Ah.”  _I wish I hadn’t bothered hurrying, then._

Fortunately, they only had to wait about fifteen minutes more before heading up to McGath’s office, which was an abnormally short delay for a politician, at least in Nathan’s experience.  Passing by the security guards and through the door, he was half-surprised to see how sparse the office was, but McGath had always been a no-nonsense kind of leader.  The UEO Senate might hem and haw, but McGath usually knew what he wanted and how to get it.  Nathan had only met him a handful of times—his head really had been as far into the sand as he could get it, these past few years—but he knew that Bill both liked and respected the man.

Still on Noyce’s heels, he was just glad that he didn’t have to deal with the Secretary General alone.  While Nathan wasn’t particularly afraid of associating with elected officials, he certainly didn’t enjoy the experience, especially when the conversations revolved around something other than pending operational decisions.  _Those are easy,_ he thought as the door clicked shut.  _Making nice and being subtle and politic are the hard parts._

Movement caught his eye as the figure seated in one of the three chairs in front of McGath’s desk rose to greet them.

_What the hell is Oliver Hudson doing here?_

Alarms started screeching in Nathan’s head, and forcing a polite smile onto his face was hard.  At least a quick glance at Bill showed that the admiral was equally surprised—and not very pleased.  Hudson, however, looked quite at home.  _Something is going on here that I’m missing…_

Bill handled the introductions, and Nathan accepted the Secretary General’s proffered hand. 

“It’s good to see you again, Nathan,” McGath said pleasantly.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Sit down, please, all of you.  This isn’t designed to be a formal gathering.”  All three officers waited until the Secretary General was seated before joining him, of course, and as Nathan settled in, he let his eyes flick right to look at the CO of _Scorpion_.  Yes, Hudson looked comfortable.  Even happy.  _What’s got him so pleased with himself?_   McGath’s voice, however, interrupted Nathan’s musings.

“Captain Bridger, I asked you here because I wanted to personally extend the UEO’s gratitude for your actions at Alfin Ridge.  Although you were in command of an untried submarine, you chose to engage those who threatened UEO territorial integrity, despite facing overwhelming odds.  By your actions alone a settlement of eight thousand citizens of the UEO was saved, and a non-aligned confederation was prevented from seizing control of a crucial naval station.  In short, Captain, your actions may have prevented all-out war.”

Nathan wanted to agree with that last part of the Secretary General’s statement.  He _really_ wanted to, almost more than anything.  He might have participated in war planning sessions, but all the while Nathan had prayed common sense would break out and they could stop this train wreck from happening.  But he knew better, now.  Hearing Marilyn Stark on the low band had changed everything.

“The award citation for the Navy Cross will read as such,” McGath continued with a smile, but Nathan’s sense of fairness objected.

“With respect, Mr. Secretary, the credit belongs to my crew—along with those of _Scorpion_ and _Atlantis_ ,” he said as reasonably as he could.

“Of course it does.  But just as the ultimate responsibility lies with you as the senior captain on the scene, so too comes the glory,” the Secretary General said with a smile.  “Bill warned me that you would argue about this, Nathan, but I warn you, I won’t change my mind.”

He thought about saying something more, but something in McGath’s eyes stopped him.  “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent.” McGath turned to face the admiral.  “See, that was easier than you anticipated.”

“I suppose he must be mellowing with age, Mr. Secretary.” Despite the smile, Bill looked wary.

“Or he’s been underutilized in his present position,” the Secretary General answered, and then shifted his gaze back to Bridger.  “I understand that you’ve been involved with both the Strategy Board and in weapons development while waiting for _seaQuest_ to be finished.”

Nathan blinked at the non sequitur.  “I have.”

“From what Bill tells me, you’ve been extremely useful in both roles—and I’m not as blinded by Macronesian rhetoric as many on the UEO Senate are.  I firmly believe that we will need big-picture thinkers in the years to come, and that’s why I want to promote you to Rear Admiral now and free you up to take a strategic look at our long term needs.”

“You want to _what_?” The words escaped before he could stop them, and Nathan simply _stared._

_Oh, shit.  Now I know why Oliver is—_

“I’m offering you a promotion that is more in line with your experience and abilities.  Say the word, and you’ll walk out of here as an admiral.”

Once upon a time, that had been all he wanted.  But Nathan did not even need a moment to think about it.  “No thank you, sir,” he said hoarsely.  “I’d rather stay on _seaQuest_.”

McGath blinked hard, clearly not expecting such a response.  Hudson’s face told the story all too plainly: _What kind of idiot turns down an admiral’s stars?_   But for Nathan, there wasn’t any choice to make.

“I don’t think—” McGath started.

“Mr. Secretary, before you continue, allow me to show you something,” Bill interrupted before McGath could continue.  When the Secretary General nodded tersely, the admiral extended his tablet computer.  From his angle, Nathan could not see whatever it was Bill felt the need to share, but he was almost sorry that the admiral had interjected.  Although Bridger knew better than to ask, he was damn curious about where that half-shocked and half-angry response had been leading.

A long moment passed in silence.

Hudson was beginning to look very annoyed.

Finally, McGath glanced at Bill.  “I see your point.”  Then the politician’s intense gaze zeroed in on Nathan.  “I understood you to be a man of peace, Captain.”

“I am.”  _And I’d really like to know what he’s looking at right now._

“Perhaps I should rephrase that to say that I did not expect a self-professed man of peace to have such a distinguished war record,” the Secretary General said more pointedly.  He was glaring a bit, now, more at Nathan than Bill.  But of course, he’d been caught rather by surprise; McGath was younger than both of the officers he was angry with, and he was a career politician.  McGath understood undersea issues—he was even an expert on them—but he’d clearly never paid much attention to submarine warfare.

_They don’t call us the silent service for nothing._

“Sometimes I think that it takes seeing how terrible war can be to truly appreciate peace, Mr. Secretary,” Nathan answered.  What he didn’t say was that losing Robert had changed everything for him, too—but Nathan wasn’t here to explain why he _didn’t_ want to fight.  Not this time.

Instinct told him that if he started in on that, he might lose _seaQuest_ once and for all, so he wouldn’t even let himself think of it.

“And yet you’re willing to fight another one?” McGath pressed.

The answer was simple.  “Some things are worth fighting for, Mr. Secretary.”

* * *

 

Katie closed the door behind herself, watching the captain’s scowl warily.  Bridger hadn’t sounded happy when he’d called her to his cabin, and anything that made him this testy boded ill for everyone.  Part of the XO’s job description was to be the captain’s punching bag (when necessary), and though Katie didn’t relish the task, she was ready to do it.  Besides, even at his worst, Bridger was no Oliver Hudson.

“Is there a problem, sir?” she asked cautiously.

“That’s one word for it,” he snorted.

_Oh, this one is going to be a doozey._ But his body language told Katie that whatever had crawled under his skin was external to _seaQuest_ ; if it had been a problem on the boat, Bridger would be talking about ways to fix it instead of brooding with such a frustrated expression on.

“What’s wrong, Captain?”

“The UEO is going public about what happened at Alfin Ridge,” he answered, only puzzling her further.

“The news is already public,” Katie said slowly.  Had he really missed that? She didn’t think that Bridger was so absorbed…not this time, anyway.

“No, they’re going public with _seaQuest’s_ role,” he corrected her unhappily. 

“Oh.  There goes security, I guess.”  This was going to be a _nightmare._ Katie could already see disaster coming.

“Oh, it gets _better_.”

A sinking feeling started growing in the pit of her stomach.  She _knew_ that expression, and the sarcastic smile the captain was wearing promised that something painful was to come.  She asked hesitantly: “Do I want to know?”

“If I have to know, you have to know.” Bridger scowled again.  “Misery loves company.  The UEO has decided to allow _60 Minutes_ to do a special on _seaQuest_.”

“They’re _what_?”

“Makes your day as wonderful as it does mine, doesn’t it?” her boss asked while Katie sat there and stared at him, her mouth hanging open.

_This isn’t a nightmare.  This is a fucking disaster!_

The silence weighed heavily upon the cabin for several long moments.  At first, all she could do was stare miserably at Bridger; they were due to get underway for their final shakedown cruise in twenty-four days, and commissioning was in only twenty-two, and preparations for both events were consuming every moment the crew had.  Katie was especially worried about preparing for the underway, especially since the brass had decided to finish _seaQuest’s_ testing right on the border with Macronesia.  Everyone knew that the short patrol would take place on near-wartime footing, and they were working twelve hour days at a minimum to make sure the boat was ready.  Yet that questionable decision paled in comparison to this one.

Finally, Katie found her voice.

“I don’t suppose we could say ‘thanks, but no thanks’?” she asked dryly. 

Bridger chuckled without humor.  “I tried that.  I got overruled by the Secretary General.”

“Fabulous.”

“I know you’ve got a lot going on, so I’m of a mind to assign point on this to one of the department heads—I want you to keep your focus on underway preps.  Do you have anyone you’d like to hand this over to?”

“Krieg.” She didn’t even hesitate, but Bridger’s eyebrows shot up.

“Krieg?” he repeated.

“Tim might stutter, Brad will bore them babbling about his reactors, Lucas is too young to be believable, and Brody is still trying to figure out which end of the boat is which.” Katie shrugged.  “But Ben is so glib that he can talk a baby out of their candy. And he’s photogenic—though don’t you _dare_ tell him I said that, sir.  They’ll never know what hit them.”

“Well, you do know him best,” Bridger laughed.

She glared.  “That was a cheap shot, sir.”

“Sorry.” His smile was cheeky, and she could see how he used to drive Jonathan insane.  “But you have a point.  Let Ben run with it.”

_That was easier than I thought it would be…_   “I assume you want to keep everything classified off the tour route, sir?”

“You assume correctly.  Tell Ben that I want a tour route laid out by tomorrow and for him to brief the entire crew on this…opportunity as soon as possible.” He managed to keep from scowling this time, but Katie could see that he was still unhappy.  “I’m sure that _60 Minutes_ will want to interview some of them, and if we have to do this thing, I want to do it right.”

“I’ll bash his head into the wall until he gets the point, sir,” Katie promised.

That prompted another laugh.  “Don’t ruin his good looks too badly.  But I’ll leave the details to you, Katie.  One of us has to be the bad guy, after all.”

 “I guess we’re just lucky that I’m good at it.”  She grinned back.  Working with Bridger was light years better than working for Hudson—even if being on board _seaQuest_ did mean that the weird things like _60 Minutes_ specials just kept piling up.  Still, she could never imagine having the conversation with her previous CO, and it was damn good to be back on a sub she could think of as home.

* * *

 

5 February 2024

“Here, carry this,” Helen Burgess said, shoving a camera bag into Ken’s hands. He was really starting to regret having agreed to act as bodyguard for this _60 Minutes_ reporter. But it had seemed like a good idea two days ago when she had come to the police station looking for protection after receiving a death threat.

_And it gets you on_ seaQuest, _so quit complaining._

That had been the real reason he had volunteered for the job. After running into Captain Bridger again, Ken had gone back to researching the man. He was still irritated about being taken off the attempted kidnapping case by NCIS a few months ago, especially since he had been there when it had all gone down.

And then news about the Alfin Ridge incident had broke, revealing that the UEO had built another _seaQuest_ in secret. Ken may never have been in the military, but even he could appreciate a boat like that. _And if Bridger was the captain of the first one and slated to be captain of the second before it got destroyed, it stands to reason he’ll be captain of this new one, too._ So much for there being a boat named _Stingray_.  Ken was still smarting from _that_ lie, too, and really wanted to uncover the actual truth.

“Do you always dawdle like this, Officer Watanabe?” Burgess asked, and Ken resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“We can’t go anywhere until someone comes to get us,” he retorted. She scowled for a moment before pasting a grin onto her face. _Probably one of those women who thinks smiling will keep her from getting wrinkles or something._

“You’re right, of course.” She turned towards one of her two assistants, the one not carrying the oversized camera. “Jason, have you done a sound check on my microphone?”

“Three times,” Jason replied flatly, barely even paying any attention to the woman. Clearly, he had lots of experience handling her and really didn’t care what she thought. Before she could start harping on him about something else, though, a lieutenant commander approached them.  He was dressed in submariner’s coveralls with a _seaQuest DSV 4800_ patch on his right breast.

“Good morning! You must be the _60 Minutes_ crew. My name is Lieutenant Commander Ben Krieg. I’m the Supply Officer on board _seaQuest_ , and I’ll be showing you around the boat today,” he introduced himself.

Burgess gave him an appraising look as he smiled affably. She sniffed, obviously finding him lacking. “Supply Officer? They couldn’t spare anyone a little more…important?”

"Well, I happen to be the second highest ranking department head on board," Krieg replied, his smile never wavering. "And since I know this boat from stem to stern, Captain Bridger asked me to show you around. You'll meet the XO, Commander Hitchcock, shortly."

She slid that fake smile back onto her face, stepping forward to slide her arm through Commander Krieg's. "Well then, Ben—you don't mind if I call you Ben, do you?—let's get this started."

Ken struggled not to laugh, but judging by the eye rolls from her two assistants, this was normal behavior for the woman.  Whatever it was, the fake smile seemed to work on the naval officer, because his grin grew even wider in welcome, and his eyes seemed to sweep appreciatively over Burgess.  Krieg’s barely-concealed admiration for Burgess’ leggy form made Ken suppress another chuckle, although this one was not nearly so amused.  _She might be good looking, but this crazy woman reminds me of a cobra.  He’s an idiot if he thinks he can get anywhere with her._

_Then again, he’s a sailor.  I shouldn’t be surprised, not after living in a navy town this long._

"Of course! If you'll follow me, we'll head on board through the tube right here. Since _seaQuest_ doesn't have a sail like most submarines, we have to enter through the launch bay, and..."

Ken trailed along behind them, trying to stay out of the way as the two other men snapped pictures and took video footage, only half listening to what the commander was saying. He was obviously _still_ trying to charm Burgess, and she was gleefully feeding into his ego.  Ken could tell she didn’t mean it, but the reporter _seemed_ like she was hanging on every word Krieg said, and the officer was eating it up.  _Probably trying to get more out of him than he's willing to give._

Ken, however, was less interested in the submarine than he was in her crew and the secrets he knew they were keeping.

_And my suspicions about Bridger were right. He_ is _in command.  This should be interesting._

The secrets didn't stop there, of course. There had been lots of interesting tidbits about the young lieutenant he'd met in the hospital, ones that made every investigative instinct that he had stand on edge.  He hadn’t found any firm information, but the very _lack_ of concrete facts made him suspicious, and Wolenczak wasn’t the only crewmember whose past seemed to have suspicious holes in it.

Krieg led them into a spacious, wood-paneled room. _Who puts_ wood _on a submarine?_ Ken wondered to himself, but the supply officer was still talking. "This is the wardroom. We'll start the tour here, and please help yourselves to refreshments while we wait for the XO to arrive. In the meantime, I'll be happy to answer any questions you might have."

"I was hoping we could start in the bridge," Burgess said, giving Krieg a fake pout.

"Don't worry, we'll get there. We do like to save the best for last," he replied with a grin.

She returned it before turning to her two assistants. "Michael, set up over there, why don't you?" she told the cameraman, gesturing airily to the far corner. "Let's do the introduction shots in here while we're waiting."

Ken put the bag he had been carrying down on one of the chairs, going to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Is there anyone in particular you'd like to interview while you're here?" Krieg asked. "Our goal is to cooperate with you as much as possible."

"Well, the captain, of course," Burgess said, talking at a compact mirror instead of the other man as she fluffed her hair. She glanced up at him briefly. "Though we may be able to arrange a... _private_...interview later."

"I'll see what I can't do."

"I'm sure you'll manage to find a way." She flashed him another grin, snapping the compact closed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, this won't take long. Jason, is the microphone on?"

Ken resisted the urge to snort. _Some women...._

"Getting distracted already, Mr. Krieg?" a dry voice interrupted as a brunette walked into the room. Ken glanced at her and noted that she wore the ranks of a commander on her collar. _Must be Hitchcock._   She was surprisingly good looking, and her eyes were…well, _distracting_ , to say the least.  However, there was something in Krieg's return smile that Ken couldn't quite identify.

"Not at all, Commander." Krieg turned back to Burgess. "Helen, allow me to introduce you to Commander Katie Hitchcock, _seaQuest's_ Executive Officer."

He saw Burgess' eyes light up. "I didn't know _seaQuest_ had a female XO!" She sounded like Christmas had come early.

Hitchcock covered it well, but to Ken's eyes, she looked slightly annoyed. "I'm sorry to disappoint you," she said dryly.

Krieg, on the other hand, looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"No, I'm not disappointed at all. Please, I hope you'll agree to an interview. It's so rare to see such a _pretty_ woman like yourself this high up in the ranks!" Ken tried to avoid the petty fights that women got themselves into sometimes, and while Burgess' comment sounded like a compliment, even he could tell there was an underlying insult.

"Thank you," Hitchcock replied, and if there was an edge in her voice, she hid it well.  “And of course, I will be happy to help you in whatever way you require.”

"Ms. Burgess was just about to film her introduction," Krieg interrupted, speaking to the commander.

"In that case, I will stay out of the way and allow you to continue," she replied.

Ken watched in amusement as Burgess rattled off some spiel about herself and about _seaQuest_ and a recent summary of events that anyone watching her show would already know. More interesting was the silent conversation the two officers seemed to be having.

_They must know each other pretty well if she can tear him apart with just a look like that,_ Ken guessed.  A few minutes passed, and Hitchcock stopped glaring at Krieg, after which the two seemed perfectly happy to stand side by side in companionable silence.  There was definitely something between them that he’d missed.

"Well, what are we waiting for, then?" Burgess asked, apparently having finished her introduction session.

"Absolutely nothing," Krieg replied with that same smile, though Ken was starting to give him a bit more credit—he seemed not to have fallen for Burgess' act as much as Ken had thought. "If you'll come this way, we'll start our tour."

Krieg led them out of the wardroom, prattling on about some of the differences between the first _seaQuest_ and the current one.

"You seem to know a lot about the old _seaQuest_ ," Ken commented casually.

"I was her Supply Officer as well," Krieg answered as Burgess turned to talk to Hitchcock. "I was flattered that Captain Bridger asked me to come back for the new boat."

"Ah. So you've worked with Captain Bridger before. You must know him fairly well, then,” Ken said, keeping his tone as conversational as possible

Krieg shrugged nonchalantly. "As well as any of the officers, I suppose. I was roommates with his son at the Academy, actually, so it's kind of ironic."

"Robert, right?" Ken asked; he had read that in one of the reports about the captain, and long years as a police officer meant he knew how to hide surprise by diverting attention back to the person he was questioning.

"Yeah. We were good friends, though I never met the Captain until he came to command the last boat."

"You like working for him?" Standard interrogation technique, getting his subject to talk about themselves and volunteer additional information without Ken guiding the conversation any more than absolutely necessary.

Krieg smiled, and now the expression didn't seem forced at all. "He's the best CO I've had, and believe me, I've had some interesting ones."

"Oh?" Ken asked, intrigued.

"It's the Navy. You don't get to pick your own boss," the officer replied with a shrug. "I'm sure you know how that is."

Ken smiled wryly. The supply officer was certainly sharper than he acted, and the odds of him getting information Krieg didn’t want to volunteer were steadily decreasing. "Yeah."

"You seem awfully curious for a guy here to be the muscle," Krieg said a moment later, confirming his suspicions.

"What can I say, Commander? I may not be a Navy man myself, but I can read the writing on the wall plain as anyone else. And this here boat will be what keeps Macronesia from knocking on our door," Ken replied. Two could play that game.

"I suppose so," was the nonchalant answer.

Ken was smart enough to know when to let something go. If he kept questioning Krieg about the captain, he'd only make the other man suspicious. Instead, he focused his attention back on Burgess and her questions directed at the XO.

The reporter was asking something about the commander's career, so Ken didn't really pay attention. Twenty minutes later, Burgess was talking to some other crew member who they’d run into along the way—O’Neill, or something like that; he was also a lieutenant commander—but Ken tuned that out, too.  So far, most of them hadn’t said anything other than the company line, how proud they were to be on _seaQuest_ and how the boat was ready to go, but the reporter was eating it up.  A few of them did offer their feelings on what had happened at Alfin Ridge, but so far they seemed like a pretty cool-headed bunch.  No one was giving anything away.

After a few minutes of listening to variations of the same answers, Ken started to wonder if they’d all been briefed on what to say and what not to say.  However, they finally were walking onto the bridge, and that was far more interesting, even over his own suspicions.

He'd taken tours of several ships and submarines over the years—what police officer hadn't?—but he'd never seen anything like this. A trio of consoles sat in the center of the space, and two other rows of consoles (one on an upper level) splayed out to each side of those. There were top of the line screens on every console, and big screen displays everywhere—the electronics alone must have cost a fortune. Most of the screens were showing information of some sort, and several crew members were sitting at their stations. Most seemed to be working, but a few glanced their way curiously.

_Is that...?_ Ken did a double take. Yes, that _was_ a pool of water on the bridge. He couldn't help staring, because there was no reason he could possibly imagine for a submarine to have that much water inside the boat.

Burgess seemed just as excited, directing her cameraman to start filming again.

Hitchcock immediately made a beeline for a young officer who was seated on the top row of stations, and Ken strained his ears to overhear the conversation.

"...classified?" the XO was asking in an undertone.

A moment later, Ken recognized the officer as Lieutenant Wolenczak. He didn't look nearly as young as he had in the hospital or in any of the pictures Ken had found of him online.  Online, everything he'd been able to find trumpeted the young officer as a child genius, the one who had taught dolphins how to talk—or had at least translated whatever noises they made, anyway. Here, however, he looked like a naval officer, and not like the worried kid that Ken had met in the hospital.

"Nothing," Wolenczak assured her. "All the systems are in training mode, and I made sure that even that stuff is vanilla."

Burgess had followed the commander, practically pouncing on the young man when the XO stepped away, fawning something about brave young men. Her entire demeanor changed when he introduced himself, though.

" _Lucas_ Wolenczak? Son of Lawrence Wolenczak? Tell me, how does it feel to know that your father has failed twice now with his World Power endeavor?" Burgess asked, looking like the cat that had caught the canary.

"I...."

"This chick really is a piece of work, isn't she?" Krieg asked Ken in a snarling undertone, looking like he burned to interfere—but Commander Hitchcock was already all over that one.

"Ms. Burgess, why don't you come take a look at our sonar suite? _seaQuest_ is the only sub in the Navy capable of controlling multiple WSKRs—that's Wireless Sea Knowledge Retrieval systems, or roving periscopes." The XO literally took the reporter by the arm and led her to another station on the opposite upper level, even though Burgess didn’t look too eager to leave Wolenczak alone. "This is Chief Warrant Ortiz, and he'll be happy to show you his toys."

"Yeah," Ken replied to Krieg, still watching the young lieutenant.

He looked shaken, unsure of what to do next. Ken had seen that look many times in the expressions of rookie cops faced with their first hard case, the one that screamed for someone to do _something_ to make the problem go away. Hesitantly, Wolenczak stood from his seat, turning his head slightly towards Hitchcock as if he wanted to get her attention, but the XO was looking the wrong way.  When she didn’t notice, Wolenczak glanced down at his display again.  Then a figure approached from his right.

Ken hadn't noticed him enter the bridge, but Captain Bridger must have overheard at least some of the conversation, because he walked up to Wolenczak as the kid stood there, looking lost.

"Go see what you can't find out, Lucas," Bridger said softly.

"What about the tour?" Wolenczak asked, though he clearly wanted to do as the captain said.

"You let me worry about that. Go."

Wolenczak practically ran out of the bridge.

Krieg left Ken's side to speak quietly to the captain, but try as Ken might, he couldn't catch what the supply officer said. A moment later, however, he stopped caring about that conversation, because without warning, the bridge went dark.

Every light, every console—off. Just...dark.

Ken had no idea how frightening it could be to be on a submarine when everything just _stopped_ , but he was suddenly having visions of the boat flooding, of it sinking, of— _Don't be an idiot, Ken. You're a police officer, and you're supposed to be used to pressure._ Still, the sudden stillness was eerie, and he thought he heard Burgess yelp. _Besides, we’re still in the drydock._

A voice broke the silence, speaking over the sub's loudspeakers as red emergency lighting started flashing to life on the bridge.

"SECURITY ALERT, SECURITY ALERT. AWAY THE SECURITY ALERT FORCE AND BACKUP ALERT FORCE. MUSTER THE RESERVE FORCE. ALL HANDS NOT INVOLVED STAND FAST. REASON FOR SECURITY ALERT: LOSS OF SHORE POWER."

The entire message was repeated again, and people started moving. _At least now I can see a little,_ Ken thought, glancing around.  Not much had changed, and no one had really moved, but there was a sudden tension on the bridge

"Engineering!" Bridger snapped. "Get me a generator online now."

A very young sounding female voice answered immediately. "Yes, sir."

"XO, get a hold of the Quarterdeck and find out what's—"

Bridger's hand-held communicator crackled, cutting him off. "Captain, Officer of the Deck."

"Bridger."

"Sir, we've had a catastrophic loss of pier services. I sent the messenger out to see what's going on, and he says that the shoreside power plant is in flames."

"The power plant is _what?_ " Bridger demanded.

"In flames, sir. I'm trying to contact base security to find out what's going on, but no one's answering."

"Very well. Let me know when you find anything else out," Bridger replied, his voice calm again. He turned to face the young female officer. "Status on coming to ship's power, Auxo?"

"It's—" she cut off, looking frustrated. "The system isn't responding, sir. It seems to be stuck in training mode."

Ken saw the XO go over to the younger woman, urging her to move aside. When she didn’t respond immediately, the sonar officer—Ortiz?—tugged her gently out of the way.  Hitchcock sat down at the engineering console.

He could hear the frustration in the younger officer's voice when she muttered, looking over Hitchcock’s shoulder: "Of all times for Cheng to go on leave..."

"Don't worry, Henderson, I think I know a thing or two about this," Hitchcock said, sounding almost amused as she typed away rapidly.

"Yes, ma'am," Henderson replied, sounding somewhat reassured. Unfortunately, several seconds passed before Hitchcock looked up, and even in the eerie red lighting, Ken could see the frustration etched into her features.

"You're not going to like this, Captain," Hitchcock said.

"Let me guess. She's stuck in training." Bridger‘s voice was light.

"Right in one, sir."

"Lovely." He headed down from the right side of the upper level to the rearmost console in the trio near where Ken was standing, hitting a few keys to bring it to life.

"Lucas probably didn't make it very far. Want me to send someone for him?" she asked.

"Let's try something else first. We haven't tested the overrides on this thing yet, anyway." Bridger shrugged and hit a few more keys; then a computerized voice spoke:

"Confirm voiceprint identity."

"Ah, excuse me." Ken hadn't noticed Krieg wandering up to the cameraman, but the supply officer reached out and hit the 'off' key with a smile. "Now's probably not the time to be using this thing. So sorry"

"You can't do that," Burgess protested. "Michael, keep filming."

"I can, unless you want us to confiscate _all_ of your tapes before you leave." His smile was positively sweet now, but there was steel behind it that Ken would not have expected.  "And have Officer Watanabe here arrest you for violating security regulations."

Ken would have done it, too, but unfortunately, Burgess shut up.

The captain spoke to the computer.  "Bridger, Nathan Hale.”

“Voiceprint confirmed,” the computer responded, sounding snotty.  “Confirm access code.” 

Bridger hit a sequence of numbers—from where Ken was standing, it looked like six.  Immediately, the screen changed, displaying a long list of overrides.  _Certainly not how I would have expected him to react,_ Ken thought. _He seems almost amused by this entire thing, or certainly not bothered by the fact that a power plant is on fire and his entire submarine is dark!_ He couldn't make out everything the screen said—he was a little too far away for that. But what he could see sent shivers down his spine _. I wonder if those nuclear weapons he has access to are actually on board right now..._

“Access code confirmed.  Determine override selection from menu and—”

“Engage Battle Override,” Bridger cut the computer off, no longer sounding amused at all.  “Emergency isolate the boat from external power sources.”

“Battle Override, engaged.  Isolating from external power sources.”

“XO, initiate start sequence, number one and number two emergency generators.”

"Initiate start sequence, number one and number two generators, aye, sir," she replied crisply.

A moment later, the lights flickered back on and consoles started coming back to life; Ken found himself blinking in the sudden brightness.  Nothing on the sub felt different than it had earlier, though a few consoles seemed to be displaying different information.

"Am I allowed to exercise my right to freedom of press again?" Burgess asked, sounding irritated.

Krieg smiled cheerfully at her, reaching out to tap the warrant officer on the shoulder. "Of course."

As if he knew exactly what that tap meant, Ortiz hit a few keys, and his console went dark.  To Ken’s right, Bridger had done the same with both of the other two consoles in the trio, and was exiting override mode on his own console.  However, he was smiling again as he wagged his eyebrows Hitchcock's way. "I guess that one works."

The commander smiled back, but before she could answer, Bridger's communicator chimed again, and the voice on the other end sounded strained. "Captain, Officer of the Deck. We just heard back from base security, and they're saying that the power station was _bombed_. They're recommending we remain at Security Alert until everything is sorted out."

"Guess that means we won't be going anywhere any time soon, eh?" Ken asked.

Bridger turned to face him, and he could see the surprise in the captain's expression. _Apparently he didn’t realize I was here.  Oops._   "I think we can manage to have someone escort you ashore, Officer Watanabe,” he said dryly.

"No need to go out of your way for me, Captain," Ken replied. He couldn't help but grin. It felt good to be ahead of the other man, for once.

 The frown was faint, but it was there. However, before Bridger could respond, Burgess jumped in.

"My interview isn't complete, Captain," Burgess said.

"I'm afraid that due to security concerns, we're going to have to cut it short, Ms. Burgess," Bridger replied, and now Ken really could see annoyance beneath the calm exterior. "I'm sure you have enough footage taped already."

"I just have a few more questions. For you," Burgess said, trying flattery again. The captain didn't seem very impressed by it.

"A few, and then I will have to ask you to leave," Bridger replied, clearly not happy and not bothering to hide it.

 "Perhaps there's somewhere more comfortable we can go?" she asked.

Bridger nodded reluctantly. "This way," he said, leading them off the bridge. As he did so, he threw a significant glance Hitchcock's way, and she nodded, remaining behind. Krieg, however, fell into step at the rear of the group, clearly wanting to make sure that no one lagged too far behind.

_Interesting. They're a little more paranoid now. Is that because the power plant got bombed, or is there something else?_ Ken wondered.

Unfortunately for Burgess, they wound up back in the wardroom, either because it was closer or because Bridger didn't want the reporter in his own cabin. Ken could see her little pout, but the captain seemed not to notice it.  Nor did he seem to notice how annoyed Burgess was when he cut the interview short after a few mundane questions about _seaQuest_ and the incident at Alfin Ridge, managing to avoid telling the reporter anything that his crew hadn't told her earlier. Soon enough, Krieg escorted the little group back off of the boat and back to the news van.

An hour later—it took almost that long to get off base due to the added security—Ken watched from his squad car as the news van pulled up in front of the station. Burgess headed inside a moment later, freeing Ken from his protective duties.

The tour had been interesting, even if it had raised more questions than it had answered for him. _But at least it had answered some of them,_ he thought, heading back to the station. _Now to get started finding answers for the new ones._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It lives! Sol and I realized we had several additional chapters written for this beastie, so we’re going to try posting them in future weeks. The entire story isn’t done (it was envisioned as a rather epic re-write of all things seaQuest when we had a lot more free time), but hopefully this will give at least a little more closure than where we left it.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 21: “Bring the Boat to Life”, in which seaQuest is finally commissioned, Katie brings an unexpected date, Bridge has a spat with Hudson, and Ben runs into an old CO who doesn’t like him one bit.


End file.
